The Green Vase
by cupcake0118
Summary: Hermione is a case worker for Draco Malfoy, who has recently been granted an early release from Azkaban. During their first meeting, Hermione accidentally breaks a precious Malfoy heirloom. Canon up until the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true **

* * *

On a cold morning in February, a young lady of twenty-four gazed warily beyond the bars of a wrought iron gate to the mansion hidden behind their height. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her hands nervously shuffled the stack of papers she held in them. Slowly, the gates began to move apart, creaking and groaning with age. The heels on her shoes clicked on the stone path as Hermione Granger made her way to the front door. Before she could clasp the silver knocker, it swung open.

"Mr Malfoy?" Hermione cringed. Due to her business here, she was forced to place a cordial salutation before his family name. It felt wrong, but she enjoyed her work too much to sabotage it for the sake of a silly school-yard grudge.

"Hello?" She called again. No answer. She huffed a little, and took a few steps to her right. She found herself in a sitting room, and decided to make herself comfortable while she waited for her charge.

Malfoy Manor had not changed at all since her visit all those years ago. It was still impeccably decorated, with high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and expensive-looking rugs. It was still empty and cold, too.

Placing her files on one of the four armchairs, Hermione wandered over to the grand mantelpiece. It was made of dark wood, mahogany, she guessed, and obviously hand-carved. Hermione idly wondered how many hours of painful labour it had taken some poor slave to create it. Her eyes then fell on a beautiful green vase in the centre of the shelf. Her fingers raked over the surface. Jade, she thought, or some other precious stone. It had small, intricate patterns woven all over the bottom half, melting into smooth stone closer to the opening at the top. It was simple, yet elegant and classy. Hermione smiled to herself. Definitely Malfoy.

"Granger," A voice barked from behind her.

Hermione jumped a little, and quickly removed her hand from the vase. She turned and acknowledged the wizard standing in front of her. He had clearly been in the shower when she arrived, as his white-blonde hair was hanging in wet clumps over his forehead. He was dressed in black slacks and a grey dress shirt. Hermione noted he looked good for all the years he had spent locked up in Azkaban.

"Mr Malfoy," Hermione tried to shift her features into a smile, but his cold grey eyes seemed to have frozen her facial muscles, "I was just admiring your lovely vase." She turned and waved a hand nonchalantly in the vase's direction.

She felt her flesh connect with the cool stone, and brought it down quickly, once again facing Draco. His eyes had lost their coolness, and instead were wide with alarm.

"Granger…" he whispered as a resounding crash came from behind her.

"Oh, shit." She mouthed, and promptly turned beet red.

"Oh, shit is about right, Granger! You just broke a priceless Malfoy family heirloom that has been in this Manor since it was built!" His grey eyes were now full of angry fire as they bored into Hermione's brown ones.

"I'm so – "

"DON'T say it." He strode past her, bent over the mess and lifted his wand from his pocket. In a second, the shards of jade had disappeared and Draco had straightened again.

"Mr Malfoy – Draco, I –"

"I said, don't say it." He hissed, refusing to make eye contact with Hermione.

"Well, I…" Hermione stepped gingerly towards her files.

"I think you should go."

"But I haven't spoken to you about your case yet. I need to file a report this afternoon." Hermione squeaked.

Draco turned and faced her now, "I think, since your filthy, mudblood hands have destroyed one of my precious belongings, Granger, you could do me a favour by leaving my home immediately, and writing your silly little report regardless if you have proper information or not. Now go." He promptly turned and left the room.

Hermione stood there in shock for a few more seconds, before coming to her senses and grabbing her files. She fled out the front door and down the garden path, passed the wrought iron gates and apparated to her flat as soon as she was outside the Malfoy wards.

She kicked off her shoes, flopped on to her couch and stared into the empty fireplace. What was she going to do? She had been assigned as a case worker for Draco Malfoy to ensure he was meeting all the demands set by the Ministry upon his early release from Azkaban. It was imperative she hand the report in to her boss before 5pm, and she had no idea what to put in it.

Crookshanks jumped on to her lap. "Don't get too comfortable," she mumbled as she scratched behind his ears, "I have to go back to the office in a minute."

Hermione sighed as she pushed the bundle of fur off of her, and placed her feet back in her shoes. Gathering her files once more, she bundled them under one arm, grabbed a fistful of floo powder in the other and stepped in to her fireplace. "Vivien Weasley's Office!" In a flash of green flames, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

The pretty blonde witch glanced up from her parchment as Hermione stepped out of the hearth and into her office.

"Hermione," She greeted curtly.

"Vivien," Hermione brushed the soot off her robes.

"I've told you to call me Mrs Weasley." Vivien smirked.

Hermione gritted her teeth. Vivien had married Ron just six months ago, a fact she enjoyed reminding Hermione of at every opportunity.

"No," Hermione retorted, "Molly is Mrs Weasley," Vivien glared through mascara-coated lashes. For a moment, she looked as though she would press the matter of her name further, but she quickly composed herself.

"What do you want?"

Hermione sighed and took a seat across from her boss. Vivien was a cousin of the Greengrass sisters whom Hermione had had the displeasure of meeting during her Hogwarts years. She was as snobbish, aristocratic and impossible as her relatives.

"I went to see Draco Malfoy."

"And…?" Vivien leaned forward a little, as if expecting some juicy gossip about the handsome ex-Death Eater.

"And nothing. I got nothing." Vivien's eyes flashed.

"Why not?" She barked.

"He kicked me out," Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes. She was beginning to regret coming to see her boss. Vivien liked to make Hermione pay most dearly for the simplest of mistakes. She was insecure, Hermione supposed, because it was Hermione who had been set to marry Ron on the day Vivien had taken her place and wed him instead.

"Well you'll just have to go back there," Vivien picked up her quill again, and began scribbling furiously on a new piece of parchment. "Now I'm doing you a favour, Hermione, because you're a friend of Ronnie's," Hermione blanched, "but don't think I'll let you off as lightly next time." She all but threw the parchment at Hermione, and waved her hand to signal the meeting was over.

Hermione glanced down at the note as she stood to leave. It was an extension on her report, to be handed in tomorrow at noon. Hermione rolled her eyes as she left Vivien's office.

She wanted nothing more than to turn around and hex the witch's fake-blonde mop straight off the top of her head. Unfortunately, the Greengrass men held a lot of power at the Ministry and if Hermione wanted to progress in her career, she had to bend to the will of their offspring.

She entered her much smaller office and quickly began to compose a letter. If she was honest with herself, Hermione was a little frightened of going back to Malfoy Manor, but the Sorting Hat hadn't placed in Gryffindor for nothing. Bravery, courage and all that. She signed the parchment with a flourish, and hastily made her way to the post centre.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the Manor, Draco was pacing like the king of the jungle himself. He had been ranting for hours, to the point of nearly losing his voice.

"That nosy little mudblood!" He spat. He felt like kicking something, hitting something, or perhaps throwing something. _No, no. That wouldn't do_, he thought. No point in sacrificing another priceless heirloom. The anger swelled in his chest, like a fiery force just waiting to explode. As he stalked past the dining quarters, he noticed all seven of his house elves were huddled together under the large table.

He thought about tormenting them for a moment, but shook himself and forced his legs to carry him to his father's study. _His father._ Draco snorted, and flopped into the desk chair.

"If you could only see me now, Lucius," He breathed, and put his head into his hands, elbows propped on the desk, "Filthy mudbloods under your roof, putting their dirty hands on your precious possessions, breaking Malfoy heirlooms."

There came a scratching noise from the far window, and Draco looked up. A tawny owl peered through the glass, a small note clamped in its beak. Draco sighed and pushed back from the desk. He threw open the window, snatched the parchment from the bird, and quickly shut the glass. The owl looked indignant, but soon turned and flew off.

_Mr Malfoy _

_I would like to extend my most sincere apologies for what happened this morning. It is my hope that we will be able to move past this incident and carry out the duties required of both of us to ensure the obligations regarding your release are met. _

_Therefore, I would appreciate it if you would meet me at your home at 9am tomorrow. Please send confirmation via owl._

_Regards,_

_Hermione Granger_

Draco bunched the paper in his fist and threw it as hard as he could at the opposing wall. A small, logical part of his brain told him that Hermione Granger had no choice but to bother him. It was her job, after all. But the rest of his brain told him that she could stick her job up a very intimate part of her anatomy, because he couldn't care less if she got the sodding report completed or not.

He thought about sending a nasty reply, perhaps even a howler which would scream profanities in her face. Then he decided it would be best to ignore her completely, outwardly refusing her order to confirm the meeting. Of course he would be here anyway. He assumed she would know that, as he was under house arrest for the next six months. So why would he need to bloody well confirm their stupid appointment? No, he would ignore her. And when she arrived tomorrow, he'd have some real fun.

Draco's mouth turned up into his signature smirk. Oh yes, when the mudblood stepped foot back in to his house, he would make sure she never wanted to return again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

Hermione shivered as a feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She tentatively approached the front door of the manor, and it opened of its own accord again. This time, however, Draco was waiting for her.

He lounged in an armchair in the sitting room, watching the archway through narrowed eyes. Hermione lifted her chin to meet his gaze as she came in to his view.

"I trust you got my letter."

Draco smirked ever so slightly, but did not reply. Hermione fought the urge to shake him. Vivien would be looking for any reason at all to have her sent back to the filing department, so instead she tightened her grip on her papers.

As she moved to sit across from him, Draco took in her appearance. She didn't look all that bad, for a mudblood, he thought. Her hair was in the same style as yesterday, and she wore a sensible skirt and blouse. Her face was free of makeup, not at all his style. But it suited her. Draco shook himself mentally. If he was going to achieve his goal of sending her running for the hills by the end of the hour, he would have to concentrate.

"Mr Malfoy?" Hermione was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, with a quill poised over the file in her lap. He lifted an eyebrow in reply.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I asked; how have you been feeling since you arrived home?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Granger."

"Well it is," Hermione sniffed, "The Ministry wants to make sure you are in good health and spirits."

"Ha!" He barked, "The Ministry doesn't give two shits about how I'm _feeling,_ Granger. Next question."

Hermione made a small note on the parchment.

"Has a Healer been to see you?"

"Yes."

"What activities have you partaken in since your release?"

"Sexual."

"I'm sorry?"

"Sexual activities," He enunciated each word as if explaining something incredibly simple to an invalid, "Not that I expect you to have any idea what I'm talking about," Draco smirked and lent back further in his armchair.

He was lying, of course. Apart from Hermione and the Healer who had seen him a week ago, he had not had any other visitors.

"Be serious, Draco."

"I am being serious, mudblood. Would you like details?" He grinned wickedly, and revelled in the blush that crept up Hermione's cheeks.

"Would you like to have your house arrest lifted on time?" Hermione knew it was childish, but the retort had left her mouth before she could rein it in.

She shuffled her papers, "Look Draco, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be. But you have to face the fact that I am the one who decides whether you are fit to leave this house at the end of your probation. Now, you can continue to act like an immature adolescent, or you can suck it up and answer my questions. I assure you, the latter would be more in your favour."

Draco glared, "Fine," he bit out, "I have not been…_partaking…_in any activities. I eat, I sleep, I read. That's about it."

"Thank you."

* * *

Hermione continued down her list of questions, and inwardly sighed with relief as she read out the last one.

"Have you heard from your parents at all?" She asked. Draco stiffened, and Hermione raised her head to look at him.

His jaw was clenched shut, and she could see a storm brewing in his eyes. Hermione knew he didn't want to answer the question, but there wasn't a choice. If he wanted to get through the next six months without being shipped back to Azkaban, he had to open up to her.

Hermione repeated the question.

"You know what?" Draco hissed, lurching forward to sit on the edge of the armchair, "I think it's about time I ask _you_ some questions, mudblood."

Hermione's eyes widened, "I-"

"Shut up!" Draco now stood, hovering over her, teeth bared like a wild beast about to devour its prey. Hermione attempted to lift herself out of her chair, but he lent over, placing a hand on either armrest, effectively boxing her in.

"Why are you here, Granger?" He breathed.

"You know why - "

"I know what your job entails. But why did you choose _this _case? Why did you choose _me?_"

"I didn't choose – " Hermione stammered, berating herself for leaving her wand in her purse.

"Lies," Draco whispered, inching his face closer to hers. He noticed her shudder once, probably from revulsion. He smirked.

"I didn't choose!" She said forcefully, "I was assigned your case!"

"And who do I have to thank for _that_ privilege?" He raked his gaze over her hairline, down the bridge of her nose, and let it rest on her plump lips.

"Vivien Weasley," Hermione whispered, following his gaze. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage, to the point where she feared it may leap out of her chest. Why was he so _close?!_

"Weasley? Hmmm," Draco pulled back slowly, "Married one of those animals, did she?"

Hermione clenched her fists.

"No way," He grinned, "She married _your _Weasel, didn't she?!"

Draco pulled back and took his seat again, the grin never once leaving his face.

"Well?" He pushed. Hermione refused to look at him.

"Holy shit!" He roared, clutching his stomach as his body shook with laughter, "That is just too bad for you, Granger. And you _work_ for her?"

Hermione sat very still as she waited for his mirth to subside. Once he calmed down, an evil smirk replaced the grin.

"Why?"

"Why what, Malfoy?" Screw formality.

"Why did he leave you for…Vivien? Or whatever her name is."

"None of your business," Hermione stood abruptly, picked up her purse and placed the files in the crook of her arm.

"It's been a pleasure," She moved to walk towards the door, her escape, when she felt a strong hand enclose around her wrist. She stared at it for a moment, then looked up into the stony-eyes of its owner.

"I asked you a question, mudblood."

"And I don't have to answer it, ferret."

Draco's eyes flashed, "Then we're going to be here for a while."

"Let go of me!" Hermione squirmed but it was no use. Even though he was still thin from life in Azkaban, Draco was strong. She wasn't going anywhere.

"No, I don't think I will," He tugged on Hermione's wrist causing her files to fall to the floor. He led them back to their armchairs, "Sit." He commanded.

Hermione did what she was told. She could feel tears threatening, and she refused to let Draco sodding Malfoy see she was upset. She would answer his stupid question, and then leave as quickly as possible.

"He cheated on me." She said, staring at her lap.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"He cheated." She repeated, raising her head slightly.

"Well, well, well. He finally figured out mudbloods are in fact beneath him? Only slightly, of course, but still. Good for him."

Hermione's head snapped up to meet Draco's gaze.

_Bingo._ Draco thought. Hermione realised her mistake as soon as Draco's mouth twitched into a smirk.

Hot tears now pooling in her eyes, she jumped out of the chair, gathered her things and ran for the door.

By the time she reached the apparition point she was sobbing. To make matters worse, she had no time to go home and wallow in self-pity, as her report was due soon. She would have to face the office with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

* * *

Later that evening, as she sat on her couch with Crookshanks, Hermione thought back to the events of the morning. Why had she let Draco do that to her? She would have to be more careful during their next meeting the following week. She could not afford to let Malfoy, of all people, make her feel worthless. Ron had done enough of that during the years they dated.

Of course, it hadn't all been bad. When they first made their relationship official, the war had just ended. But a few months past the aftermath, Ron began to change. Suddenly, he was in the spotlight. He was sought after by almost every Department in the Ministry. Everyone wanted to have a drink with him. Girls wanted to have sex with him. He was famous, rich, and he loved it.

It wasn't long before he gave in to several girls who sought to pleasure him. Hermione would wake up alone more often than not, and he never told her where he had been, although she had sneaking suspicions he had not been working late at the office. Not unless his secretary was working back, too.

Hermione had been about to break up with Ron, when Harry gave him a good boxing around the ears. This intervention seemed to mellow Ron somewhat, and their relationship improved. Ron proposed on September 1st, stating that it had been on that date eleven years ago that he had first met Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had accepted, truly believing that it would work out between them after all.

A year later, it was their wedding day. They had decided to hold it at a Wizarding Hotel, and both had stayed in separate rooms, keeping with tradition. The morning of the big day, Hermione had left her room to collect the flowers from the foyer.

As she returned with Ginny, both holding a bundle of bouquets, she noticed moaning coming from the room she knew Ron to be in. Pausing to make sure she wasn't imagining it, she heard a familiar voice shout "Harder, Ron, harder!"

She pushed open the door, Ginny on her heels, to find Ron pumping furiously into Vivien from behind. It turned out, after meeting at a Christmas do at the Ministry, Ron and Vivien had started an affair.

Hermione fled, and she heard from Harry that after her departure, Ron had asked Vivien to marry him that day instead. And here they were. Vivien, her boss, married to her ex-fiancé.

Hermione sighed and forced herself to get off the couch.

"Come on, Crookshanks," she murmured, "time for bed."


	4. Chapter 4

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

The following Monday, Hermione woke up with a pounding headache, a scratchy throat, and a stuffed-up nose. Feeling like death warmed up, she dragged herself to her floo and called her office.

"Vivien, I think I've come down with a cold. I don't think I'll be able to make it in today."

"Work from home." The witch barked, and cut the connection.

Hermione removed her throbbing head from the fireplace and sighed. After making some tea, she settled herself on the couch with lots of fluffy blankets and a stack of paper work.

She continued this way for the next two days. Hermione knew she would have recovered much quicker if she had been allowed to rest rather than work from home. But Vivien refused to pass her work on to someone else, and so Hermione had no choice.

By Thursday, the worst of her illness had passed, though she was still feeling weaker than usual. Unfortunately, her immune system had chosen the most inopportune time to take a vacation, as today was her next meeting with Draco Malfoy. Weakness of any form was unacceptable. After last week, Hermione had resolved never to let her guard down in front of that man again.

* * *

Draco, on the other hand, was in high spirits. He had had a rather uneventful week, and was looking forward to the excitement Hermione Granger would bring. He had been filled with a sick satisfaction after seeing her leave his home in such a state last week. He hoped he would be able to elicit a similar response from her after this meeting.

He hummed softly as he looped a green tie around his neck. Checking it was straight against his crisp white shirt, he sauntered out of his bedroom, still humming, and made his way to the sitting room. He positioned himself against one of his lounges, half sitting on the armrest. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past eleven. She had stated in her letter the meeting was for eleven. Draco frowned. He did not do tardiness.

A moment later, there was a loud crack and one of his house elves appeared, kneeling before him.

"Forgive me, Master Draco, I do not mean to interrupt," Draco grunted, and the elf stood, ringing his hands, "I came to see if Master and his guest would like some tea?"

Draco glared at the creature, who bowed his head immediately.

"My _guest…_" Draco grimaced, "is not here yet, and I do not want you anywhere near this part of the manor when she does decide to grace me with her presence. Understand?"

The elf nodded, mumbled an apology, and disapparated with a loud _crack!_

"Bloody elf," Draco muttered. Of course he, and probably the rest of the elves who served in the manor, would want to try to meet the great Hermione Granger. She was famous in their world, as she had fought furiously for their rights for years. Draco scowled. Fancy house elves having _rights._

Suddenly, the door swung open and in rushed a breathless Hermione.

"I'm so sorry!" She huffed, panting heavily.

Draco glowered, "Granger, how nice of you to show up."

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy," Hermione repeated, and straightened her skirt, "I have been unwell this week, and as such my head has been a bit fuzzy. I would have been on time, but I forgot my files…twice."

"Yes, well, I can only imagine how you remember anything, what with all that _mud _you must have clouding your brain."

Hermione chose to ignore his comment, and sat herself in one of the armchairs

"How has your week been so far, Mr Malfoy?"

"It's been great, right up until about five minutes ago," Draco said, inspecting his finger nails.

Hermione bristled, but moved on.

"Have you had any visitors?"

"Only some bushy-haired mudblood who insists on asking me ridiculous questions,"

"Have you heard from either of your parents?"

"Next question,"

Hermione glanced up, and found Draco's grey eyes boring in to her own.

"Mr Malfoy, you need to answer this."

"Next. Question," He hissed.

"Have you heard from either of your parents?"

"I'm not going to answer that, Granger," he smirked, "Move on,"

Hermione sighed, and lent back in her chair a little, "Mr Malfoy, I've been suffering from a rather nasty head cold for the last couple of days, and I'm still feeling under the weather so please, just answer the question and I'll be on my way a lot sooner."

"I couldn't give a pixie's dick about your derelict immune system, Granger. I will not answer your sodding question. Deal with it, and ask the next one," He crossed his arms over his chest, and Hermione fought the urge to laugh. He looked like a petulant child.

"Fine," She said through gritted teeth, "Have you received the paperwork from the ministry?"

"Yes."

"Good," Hermione placed a small tick on her parchment, "And have you thought about what department you would like to enter at the end of your probation?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," He responded easily.

Hermione scowled and pushed her quill into the paper a little harder than necessary. That was her department, and she would be damned if Malfoy was going to traipse into it and haunt her after she'd finished six months with him.

"Problem, Granger?" Draco enquired.

"No, not at all," Hermione cleared her throat. It was still sore from her cold. She leant over to find the throat lozenges in her bag. As she raised herself back into a sitting position, she felt a tickle in her nose.

"_ACHOO!" _She sneezed.

"UGH! Oh Merlin, that is fucking disgusting!" Draco stood quickly, spinning around in circles.

Hermione tried to supress a giggle as she watched him twirl in front of her.

"Think this is funny?!" He spat, "You got your filthy, mudblood germs all over me! Look!" He pointed to his tie, and she noticed a small amount of what could only be snot in the middle of it.

She bit her lip to hide her smile, "It's not going to kill you, Malfoy."

"It might!" He said indignantly.

Hermione sighed, "The worst that will happen is you'll catch my cold."

"And _die!_"

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed, "I'm sure you were dirtier than this in Azkaban.

Draco stopped flapping about, and turned stiffly to face her.

"You'd know all about _filth_, mudblood," He crept closer, "But don't ever think you could know _anything_ about my life in Azkaban."

He turned on his heel and left the room.

Hermione shrugged, her head buzzing too much with this morning's painkillers to work up a care factor. She collected her things, and headed for the apparition point.

* * *

Later that night, after another healthy dose of painkillers, Hermione thought back to her morning with Draco. She could ask someone else to take the case for her, she supposed. But Hermione Granger was not a quitter. She was a Gryffindor, and no Gryffindor was going to give in to a Slytherin that easily.

"Two weeks down, five and a half months to go," She sighed and turned over in her bed. Soon the medicine was transporting her far away from Draco Malfoy, and the godforsaken job she had to complete with him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

The tension in Hermione's shoulders eased as she felt her feet connect with solid concrete. Shaking her hair out from underneath the hood of her cloak, she stepped forward and knocked three times on the large wooden door. Muffled voices sounded inside for a moment, before quick footsteps made their way towards her.

The door swung inwards to reveal the red-headed form of Ginny Potter.

"Hermione! Come in, come in!" Ginny beamed at her friend and ushered her into the hall.

"Thanks Gin," Hermione shrugged out of her cloak and pulled the other woman into a tight hug, "You look well."

"Thanks," Ginny said, rubbing her swollen belly.

"How many months to go now?" Hermione asked.

"Two," Ginny sighed, "I hope it goes quick."

Hermione laughed.

"Hermione Granger!" Harry exclaimed as the two women entered the kitchen.

She fell into his open arms and hugged him tightly, "How are you, Harry?"

"Fantastic," He grinned, flicking his wand so the sauce on the stove would continue to cook without his monitoring, "Have a seat."

Hermione obliged and rested her elbows on the wooden table.

"So, how are things?" Harry asked, taking a seat across from her.

"Good," Hermione said quickly. Ginny sat next to her, pushing a glass of pumpkin juice into hands.

Harry frowned, observing her for a moment.

"What happened? Is it Ron?"

"No, it's not Ronald," Hermione sighed. She felt the tension rising up her spine again, "It's Draco Malfoy."

Harry choked on a sip of his own juice, "What?"

"Draco Malfoy. He was released early from Azkaban - "

"So I heard," Harry muttered.

"Yes, well I was assigned his case. I've been working with him for over a month now, and it's taken a real toll on my sanity," Hermione massaged her temples as she recalled their meeting that afternoon.

"Vivien's doing this on purpose, isn't she?" Ginny asked.

"Probably," Hermione laughed mirthlessly, "She assigned me the case as soon as his release was signed for,"

The pot on the stove started to boil, and Harry stood to tend to it.

Soon the trio were eating Harry's specialty: spaghetti bolognaise.

"So," Harry began, swallowing a particularly large mouthful, "you've been visiting Malfoy at the manor?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Doesn't that bother you? With, you know, what happened there."

"It did at first," Hermione admitted, "The place is still creepy, but it's not like I have a choice. I had to get over it. It helps that I don't have to enter the wing where…it happened,"

Harry was thoughtful for a moment, and Ginny piped up.

"I could speak to Ron for you," she poked at her pasta, "or beat him, whatever works. He could make Vivien assign the case to someone else."

Hermione chuckled, "It's ok, Gin. Nothing I can't handle."

Ginny frowned, "I'd like an excuse to beat him, anyway."

"We all would," Harry agreed.

"How is Ronald?" The question had passed her lips before Hermione could stop it.

"Er…" Harry started.

"He's ok," Ginny said simply, "We don't see him much. He's a right git, Hermione. You deserve so much better, honestly."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione chewed another mouthful of spaghetti, but found it had taken on the texture of cardboard.

She forced herself to swallow, "You don't have to estrange him just because of me," she said softly.

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry snorted.

"It's not just because of you, Hermione," Harry said, "He's been foul to everyone. Poor Molly was in tears the other day because of that bimbo he married. We weren't there, but George told me that Ron had sat at the table like a bloody mute while Vivien went on and on about how she disliked the way their home was decorated."

"And he's no longer welcome at Bill and Fleur's, either," Ginny added, "He was there a few weeks ago, and Bill told him to get out and never come back. I'm not sure what happened, exactly, but Bill was really angry. I've never seen Bill like that, so it must have been something drastic."

Hermione smiled weakly, having listened to both recounts. Her appetite had long deserted her. She had been looking forward to this visit with Harry and Ginny, and now she was left feeling sick and empty. Damn Malfoy, and damn Ron. Damn them both to hell!

Ginny began clearing dishes soon after, and Hermione stood to help.

"No way," Ginny shook her head as Hermione located the dish cloths, "You two go and sit in the lounge. I'll be out in a minute," she motioned with her elbow towards the entrance of the kitchen.

Hermione followed Harry out and settled herself in a recliner.

"How are you, Hermione? Honestly, this time."

"I'm fine, Harry."

"You don't seem fine."

Hermione sighed, "I am fine. I just have a lot going on at the moment, with Malfoy and bloody Vivien," she spat the woman's name, "I'm stressed. But I'm ok," she attempted a smile, which Harry did not accept.

"You can talk to me about anything, Hermione. Ron may have deserted you like the prat he is, but I'm not going anywhere."

"And neither am I," Ginny stood, leaning against the door frame, "We're both here for you, any time you need us, for anything, ok?"

"Thank you, both of you," Hermione smiled, genuinely this time, and stood to leave, "And thank you for dinner, it was lovely."

"I'm sorry the conversation wasn't a little more interesting," Harry smiled apologetically but Hermione waved her hand.

"Next time we'll make it my place?" She asked, "Perhaps next week, or the one after?"

"I'll owl you," Harry said, walking her to the door, "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."

With a _crack!_ She was gone.

* * *

_Dearest Draco,_

_I cannot tell you how happy I was when I received your letter. Please continue to send them, as it made my dreary existent a little more bearable. _

_Azkaban is as it has always been. I am in solitude most of the time, though a handful of the guards occasionally stop by for a short conversation. My lawyer is fighting for an early release, but I fear his attempts will be futile._

_As for your mother, unfortunately I have no way of easing your concerns. The guards I am on good terms with will not tell me much, though I do know she is alive and in a cell on the other side of the prison. _

_In regards to her sanity, I can only pray it is still intact. I fear the worst, however. She was never mentally or emotionally strong, and while the dementors have eased somewhat since the downfall of the Dark Lord, I imagine their presence is still taking its toll on her. _

_That is all I know, but if I hear of anything else I will alert you. _

_Keep well, my son,_

_Your Loving Father_

Draco let his head fall on to his desk as he finished reading Lucius' letter. He had written to him and his mother soon after he had been released. A month later, he finally had a reply, but it was not the one he really wanted. Narcissa had been imprisoned with her husband and son for her involvement with Voldemort. Draco feared for her, as her psyche was not the strongest. He wished his stupid house arrest would be lifted already so he could visit her.

_If they let you visit her,_ the voice in his head whispered. He groaned in frustration, and pushed his head further into the crook of his arm. It was more than likely that the Ministry would forbid him from visiting either one of his parents, even once his probation ended. They wouldn't trust him.

"Draco?" A voice called from below. Draco jerked his head up.

"Oi, Draco!" Another voice called.

Draco took the steps two at a time, and came face to face with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson

"Blaise! Pansy! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He couldn't help but grin.

"Came to see you, of course. Would have been here sooner, but _someone_ had certain beauty rituals to perform," the dark haired wizard raised an eyebrow in his companion's direction.

"Oh shut up," the petite witch scowled, "No respectable woman leaves the house looking less than perfect!"

Draco's grin widened, "Would you like a drink?"

The three old friends sat in one of the many courtyards the manor boasted, the men with Firewhiskey, and Pansy with champagne.

House elves bustled around them, topping up drinks and bringing platters of food. It had been so long since they had been given the opportunity to entertain.

"So, how's life on the outside?" Blaise asked.

"Not that different from the inside," Draco scoffed, "I'm under house arrest until August," he took a swig of his drink.

"It'll go fast enough," Blaise assured him.

"I heard a rumour you have that _mudblood_ Granger as your case worker," Pansy wrinkled her pug-like nose in distaste.

Draco scowled, "That's true."

Blaise snorted into his glass. Pansy blanched.

"You poor, poor wizard!" She whispered.

"Oh, knock it off, Pans," Draco shook his head, "I don't need your sympathy."

"So how is she?" Blaise asked nonchalantly. Pansy choked on her champagne.

"Excuse me?" Draco spluttered.

"How is she?" Blaise repeated, "You know, in bed?"

"I haven't fucked her!" Draco cried, "It's…_Granger!_"

"She isn't bad looking, for a mudblood," Blaise shrugged.

"You're disgusting."

"I'm honest."

"No, Draco's right," Pansy had found her voice, "You're disgusting."

The trio laughed, and moved on to more pleasant topics. Blaise told Draco about his work at the Ministry, and Pansy gossiped about the people they had gone to Hogwarts with. Astoria and Daphne Greengrass had married acquaintances from Durmstrang, Theodore Nott was working a low-paying job desperately trying to climb the Ministry's greasy pole, and Vincent Crabbe was still lazing around his parent's estate, eating his way through life.

It was soon time for Blaise and Pansy to leave, though Draco wished they could stay all week. He would never admit it out loud, but he was lonely.

Blaise promised he would return sometime next week for a game of Quidditch, and Pansy said she'd be back to keep him company as well.

Draco bade them goodnight, and returned to his study.

He fell asleep shortly after midnight, his father's letter pressed to his left cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

"Week seven, and I fear the mission is futile…" Hermione mumbled to herself as she once again made her way towards the front door of Malfoy Manor.

"Mr Malfoy?" She called, dumping her things on to a coffee table. She had begun to feel quite at home in the sitting room.

"Coming, Granger, keep your pants on!" Draco apparated right in front of her, and she took a step back in alarm. He grinned.

"Couldn't just walk the ten paces?" She quirked an eyebrow, willing her heart rate to slow down.

"Nope," He popped the 'p' and threw himself on to a chair, his legs dangling over the armrest.

She cleared her throat and pulled her parchment into her lap.

"Same questions?" He asked as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Yes."

"Then this will be very quick," he shifted to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees, "my answers are the same as last week, and the week before that, and the week before that."

"That may be the case, Mr Malfoy, but I still need to ask them," she took a deep breath, "You also haven't answered one of my questions."

"And I don't plan to," he leaned back.

"Well, you're going to have to eventually," she shrugged and mimicked his posture, "You won't be granted full release if you don't."

"Then I guess you'd better get used to seeing me once a week, mudblood," Draco grinned maliciously.

"Trust me, if you prevent me from getting your house arrest lifted, I will make it my soul purpose in life to have your case transferred to someone else," she spat.

"Even better," he sneered, "Maybe I'll at least get a _good looking _witch next time, instead of some filthy little mudblood with no class."

"Ha!" Hermione barked, "Because you'd know all about class, Malfoy."

He huffed, and Hermione marked another point to herself.

"Let's just get on with today's meeting, shall we?"

He grumbled, but waited for her to continue.

* * *

He answered the questions exactly as he had the previous weeks, until she asked the last one.

"You know I won't answer that," he said curtly.

"Why not?" She pressed.

"Because it's none of your damn business, that's why!" He stood and paced across the room.

"Actually, it is. I'm telling you now, Draco, if you do not answer this question, your house arrest will not be lifted."

He was silent, staring out the window as if willing the glass to shatter.

"Look," her voice softened, "I understand you don't want me prying into your private life, and believe me I'm not trying to invade your personal space," He snorted, "I'm trying to help. Just answer the question; it's a yes or no answer, that's it."

"No, it isn't," he countered, "You'll ask which parent, what the content of the conversation was, probably ask to see the damn letter!"

"I won't, Mr Malfoy, I promise - "

"You will, Granger," His eyes flashed angrily as he turned to face her, "I know you, you insufferable, bushy-haired, know-it-all! You've made it your fucking mission in life to know _everything_. But guess what," he advanced on her, towering over her seat as he had done during their first proper meeting, "I don't need your help, I don't need you to figure me out, I don't want you here. So take your mudblood arse out of my chair, and go and write your stupid report the same way you do every other week; without the answer to that pathetic little question."

He stood straight and left the room.

Hermione sighed, her breathing shaky. She felt as if she might cry. She was not used to failing, not that it happened to her often, and it felt painfully disappointing. And for what? Malfoy, of all people!

It wasn't as if she wasn't trying her hardest, the git just refused to help himself! She sighed, and clipped the front door closed.

She walked slowly to the apparition point, her thoughts on how to best help Draco. She didn't like him as a person, thanks to his tormenting nature as a child when they were at Hogwarts. But she was a compassionate person, and believed he deserved a second chance.

That was why she and Harry had stood at the Malfoy trials, and testified that all three had switched sides during the Final Battle. The Ministry, however, had ruled that they had been Death Eaters for so long, their change of heart had come too late, and they had been sentenced to Azkaban any way.

Hermione and Harry had tried to get the ruling over turned, but the Wizengamot would not budge, and as such, the Malfoys had been carted off to Azkaban without a second thought. Hermione knew this outcome had weighed heavily on Harry, who felt indebted to Narcissa for saving his life, and had not broached the subject with him since.

Draco didn't know she had fought for his release well before it was granted, and as far as she was concerned, he didn't need to know. He was snarky enough with her as it was.

"Hermione, I need to speak with you," Vivien stuck her head out as Hermione walked down the hall to her office.

"Sure, Vivien," Hermione retraced her steps and stood in front of her boss's desk, "How can I help?"

"I've been going through your reports on Draco Malfoy," Vivien shuffled some papers on her desk, "And I couldn't help but notice you're not getting all we need out of him."

Hermione sighed, "I'm working on it, Vivien. He just got out of Azkaban, for goodness sake; it's going to take a while."

"We don't have a while," Vivien smiled grimly, "Up top is getting antsy; they want to know the ins and outs of Draco's relationship with his father. They want to know if they've been in contact."

"Don't they check mail entering and leaving Azkaban?"

"They do, but I don't think Lucius, or Draco for that matter, would be stupid enough to leave a letter as it is. They'd conceal it somehow."

"Shouldn't they check for that?"

"Hermione," Vivien looked at her condescendingly, "Have you ever been to Azkaban?"

"Well, no…"

"Do you think that the underpaid guards have _time_ to perform complicated detection spells on _every _piece of parchment that lands on their rock?"

"I see your point."

"I need you to get this information out of him."

"I can't, Vivien," Hermione deflated, and sank into a chair, "I've tried, Merlin knows I have."

"Do I have to send someone else?"

Hermione started to object, but stopped herself. Did it really matter if someone else took over the case? Isn't that what she had wanted since being assigned to it?

"You know what? I think you do. I obviously can't get the job done; there's no way in hell Draco is going to open up to me given our history together. I'll finish up my report and have his file organised to pass on before the end of the day."

Vivien nodded, barely hiding a smirk.

"Oh, Hermione," she called.

"Yes?"

"I _hate _to have to do this to you, but with giving up Draco's case and all, you're going to have to go back to filing."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but knew it would do no good. She had no other cases that would be ready to begin for at least another month.

"Fine," She nodded once, glaring at the floor, then turned and left Vivien's office.

* * *

_Dear Father, _

_Thank you for your response, though it bothers me that it took over a month to receive it._

_I fear I may not be granted full release after my probation after all, as I am refusing to give details of our conversations to my case worker, Hermione Granger, that filthy mudblood I went to school with. _

_We have had seven meetings so far, and at each one she has managed to infuriate me beyond words. At this point, I almost wish I was back in Azkaban. At least I didn't have to suffer through her company and those Ministry-guided questions. _

_They're keeping an annoyingly close eye on me. I fear they may not allow me to visit you and Mother when (if) my probation is lifted. I need to see her, and make sure she is ok. _

_Please keep trying to find more information on her for me. I hope you are well. _

_Your son,_

_Draco_

He sighed as he laid his quill gently on the desk. He called for his owl, waved his wand over the parchment to conceal its contents, and folded it so the bird could carry it.

"Take this to Lucius," he breathed.

The owl hooted knowingly, and took off in to the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

Draco was in a foul mood the morning of his next case meeting. His house elves had brewed him the wrong kind of tea, he couldn't find his tie and he stubbed his toe on the side of his gigantic bed as he rushed about trying to locate it.

He swore as he felt the wards around the manor shimmer. Granger was here, and he was only half dressed!

Throwing a different tie around his neck and tying it deftly, he padded down the stairs. He stopped a moment, took a deep breath, and rearranged his features into an indifferent expression.

"Morning, Granger," he drawled as he rounded the corner to the sitting room.

He stopped dead as he came face to face with his case worker.

She sniffed and looked him up and down reproachfully, "Mr Malfoy," He raised his eyebrows, "Unfortunately Miss Granger has been removed from your case. I am Morag Eaglewater, and I shall be taking over from here," the tall, skinny old witch perched herself in one of his chairs.

He ground his back teeth together. _So much for a better looking witch, _he thought. This one had to be at least a hundred years old; her eyes were tiny dots of black hidden amongst folds of saggy, pale skin, and she was slightly hunched over.

"What happened?" He grunted, throwing himself onto a lounge.

"I beg your pardon?" The witch raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to Granger?" He repeated, as if it were obvious.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mr Malfoy," she looked sternly down her nose at him, "Now, shall we begin?"

"Yeah, alright," Draco sighed and rubbed his face with his right hand.

The questions were the same, though Draco noted briefly he enjoyed answering them far more when they fell from Granger's lips. He stopped the thought before it could progress however, and pushed it from his mind.

"Just one more question, Mr Malfoy, and then I will be out of your hair," Morag glanced up quickly, and Draco braced himself for what was to come.

"Have you heard from either of your parents since your release from Azkaban?"

Draco was silent for a moment and Morag began to repeat the question.

"Didn't the mudblood tell you I refuse to answer that question?" Draco cut in, "Just because they sent you instead of her does not mean I'm going to answer it now."

"Mr Malfoy," Morag's eyes flashed, "That is disgusting language, and I'll thank you for not using it in my presence."

Perhaps it was her age, or the way the skin on her face wobbled dangerously as she spoke, but Draco was taken aback.

"I should think that given all Miss Granger has done for you, you would be far more respectful!"

Draco scoffed, his confidence returning, "All she has done for me? She gets paid for this," he waved his hand dramatically, "does she not?"

The witch shifted in her seat, "Yes, she does. But not enough, it would seem. I was actually referring to the work she and Mr Potter did shortly after you were sentenced."

Draco's brows knitted in confusion.

"You don't know?" Morag pursed her lips, "It was she who petitioned for an appeal! She sought to get your sentence overturned as soon as it had been handed down. They would have succeeded, too, if that daft wizard from the Wizengamot hadn't threatened to cut pay checks," she scowled at the memory.

Draco was gobsmacked. There was no other word for how he was feeling in that moment. Granger had _helped _him? He was suddenly angry. At whom, though, he was not sure.

"I think you should go now," he said evenly.

Morag sighed, "Very well, Mr Malfoy. But let me assure you, Miss Granger was right. If you do not answer that last question, and answer it soon, there is a very high chance you will be sent back to Azkaban. Do not undo all Miss Granger's hard work, boy, show her some appreciation and think about it for next week. I'll see you then."

"No!" Draco stood quickly, "Send Granger back. I'll answer her, but no one else."

Morag looked like she was going to argue, "I will only talk to Granger," He reiterated.

She set her jaw, her chin wobbled, "Very well. I will speak to Mrs Weasley."

Draco nodded his thanks, and watched her leave down the path.

So, Granger had tried to help him. _Typical, really_, he thought. She could never turn her back on someone who needed saving.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, returning to his bedroom. His missing tie was lying on his bed. He frowned and fingered the satiny material.

"Minny!" He shouted.

There was a loud _crack! _And a house elf appeared. She curtsied low.

"Master?"

"Did you put my tie here?" He pointed.

"No master!" Minny shook her head emphatically, "No house elves is been up here today, sir!"

"Very well," Draco nodded and Minny disapparated after another low curtsy.

He lifted the tie in his hands and sat down on the edge of his bed. Next week should be very interesting, at least.

* * *

Hermione was shocked when later that afternoon she was summoned to Vivien's offie and found Morag Eaglewater already seated in front of the desk.

"You wished to see me?"

"Sit," Vivien barked. She did as she was told.

"I asked Mrs Weasley to call you hear this afternoon to discuss the events which transpired at Malfoy Manor this morning," Morag looked at her sharply and Hermione bit back a groan.

"It seems he's had a change of heart," Vivien's pencilled-on eyebrows tried to disappear into her hairline.

"Excuse me?"

"He asked for you to take over his case again," Morag clarified, "Said he will only answer the question about his parents if you return next week and ask it of him."

Hermione was dumbfounded, "How…? Why…?"

Morag shook her head. Vivien glared at her.

"You will collect Morag's report, Hermione, and continue to work on Mr Malfoy's case."

Hermione nodded. Morag made her leave, promising to have her report ready by the end of the day.

"Just a warning, Hermione," Vivien flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "If you…fail…at getting the information we need this time, I will not be sending you back to Malfoy Manor again, no matter how much Draco may beg."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Vivien's smile widened.

"Go."

Hermione scurried back to her office and plopped herself into her chair, her mind desperately trying to process the information it had just been given.

Draco Malfoy had _asked_ her to return as his case worker. What in Merlin's name was going on?

She swung around a few times on the swivel chair, and then stopped dead in front of her desk. She would need to prepare immediately. She wasn't sure what Malfoy was playing at, but she wasn't about to fail again.

She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began to write.


	8. Chapter 8

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

Hermione had purposefully arranged the meeting for 9am, as she was determined to get an answer out of Draco regarding his parents. Of course she had been told he promised to open up if she took over the case again, but it was Malfoy she was dealing with and she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. She was also determined to succeed so she could wipe the smug look off of Vivien's face.

She had cleared her schedule completely, so she could sit in Malfoy's armchairs all day if she had to. She allowed herself a small smile as she climbed to the front door. It did not open on its own, as it usually did.

She frowned, and raised her hand to the knocker. She dropped it three times on to the dark wood.

She was about to knock again, when the door opened slowly.

"Granger," Malfoy nodded, his face set in cold determination.

"Mr Malfoy," Hermione replied, slipping past him.

"Would you like tea?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. In all her visits here he had never offered her tea.

Before she could answer, he had clicked his fingers and a house elf appeared.

"Minny, fetch Miss Granger and myself some tea," he said, his eyes never leaving Hermione's.

She swallowed thickly and reminded herself why she was here. _Get the answers, and leave! _

"Have a seat," he smirked slightly, and she backed into a chair.

She cleared her throat as he sat across from her.

"So, Mr Malfoy - "

"Call me Draco,"

She quirked an eyebrow, "Are you going to call me Hermione?"

He blanched, but nodded slowly, "Perhaps we could both work on…pleasantries."

She eyed him warily, but continued, "Ok, Draco, have you had any visitors this week?"

"Yes," he nodded, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, "Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. They've been by a few times in the past three weeks."

Hermione scribbled on her parchment.

"Minny has your tea!" the house elf squeaked as she burst into the room, balancing a silver tray precariously in her small hands. Hermione leapt to her feet to help.

"Here," she took the tray from the small elf, and smiled at her. The elf's eyes widened and she averted her gaze to the floor.

Draco stared pointedly at the elf, but she paid no attention to her Master. Hermione heard a creak and craned her neck to look past Minny.

She suppressed a giggle as she saw a group of house elves huddled by the entrance to the sitting room. Their wide eyes and bat-like ears stuck out around the wall.

Draco followed her gaze and as he spotted them, the elves scattered. Minny was shaken from her reverie, and fled behind them.

"Blasted elves," he cursed under his breath.

Hermione frowned, "I hope you are treating them well," she said.

He rolled his eyes, "I don't beat them, Granger. They're fine. No need to spew me."

"It's S.P.E.W!" Hermione admonished, "And it's Hermione."

He ducked his head to hide a smirk, "Carry on."

"Right," she shuffled some papers, "Let's just get to the crux of why I'm here. Your parents," She looked up at him expectantly.

He let out a breath slowly, "You have to understand, I'm really not comfortable talking about this - "

"You said you would answer the question if I agreed to take over your case again," Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Would you let me finish?" Draco's eyes flashed, "I'm not comfortable talking about it," he repeated, "but I will answer your question. I was merely asking for your understanding. This is difficult for me," He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

Hermione was silent, patiently waiting for him to continue. It infuriated him.

"I received a letter from my father this morning."

Hermione scribbled on her parchment.

"I wrote to him as soon as I returned home from Azkaban."

She continued to scribble.

"It took him a month to reply to my first letter. I promptly sent another, and it took a week to get this reply," he took a deep breath, "I haven't sent one back yet but I intend to this afternoon."

Hermione stopped writing after a spell, and looked at Draco. He was staring at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You don't want to know the content of the letters?"

"Well, I'm sure the ministry do. But I'm more than capable of filling in the blanks myself," she grinned mischievously.

Draco couldn't help but return her grin.

"Hermione Granger, a liar? To the Ministry, no less!"

"I'm not a liar," she corrected, "I simply believe that everyone deserves privacy, no matter what their past holds."

There was an awkward silence.

"I heard, you know, Morag, she told me…" Draco ran a hand through his hair and hung his head.

"She told you what?" Hermione asked warily.

"She…she told me about what you and…Potter," he spat the name out, and Hermione frowned, "…what you did for me and my family after we were sentenced."

"Oh," Hermione felt her cheeks warm. She was going to have a few choice words to say to Morag Eaglewater when she returned to the office.

"Thank you," he choked.

Hermione almost laughed, but thought better of it. It appeared she had the upper hand and she wasn't about to invite Draco's anger to the party.

"You're welcome," she nodded, "If you like, we can leave it there for today. I appreciate you opening up to me."

Draco tilted his head in her direction but made no attempt to reply.

"I'll see you next week," Hermione said abruptly. He was silent. She huffed and walked herself to the door.

She turned on her heel as she reached the apparition point and let a satisfied smile spread across her face as she entered the Ministry.

* * *

Without knocking, she burst into Vivien's office, ready to flaunt her findings.

She was greeted with an eyeful of Vivien's cleavage as it bounced in Ron's large hands. He had her leaning over her desk, his groin rubbing furiously against hers.

They looked up as the door swung open, revealing a shocked Hermione.

"I'm so sorry!" She squeaked, and fled to her own office.

Breathing heavily, she slammed her door shut and waved her wand towards it, successfully locking it from anyone who would want to disturb her.

She dropped her files unceremoniously on to her desk and slumped in her seat. Dropping her head into her hands, she began to sob. She was not over Ron, even though he had been an utter arsehole to her for the duration of their relationship and some of the years before that too.

She cried until the tears dried up, and forced herself into a sitting position. Wiping her eyes, she stood and began rearranging her desk. A minute in, she became angry with the clutter and swept her arm along the length of her desk, sending parchment and quills and ink clattering to the floor. She slid down with it, her shoulders shaking with despair.

She had yet to properly mourn her and Ron's relationship, and she chose now to let herself feel the emotions she had locked away successfully for over eight months.

A few minutes later, she was able to pull herself together. She began picking things up off the floor and arranging them back on her desk.

There came a knock on her door, and she quickly cast a glamour charm to rid herself of the puffy eyes and red nose crying had so kindly saddled her with.

"Come in," she called.

"Uh…Hermione? Can we talk?"

Her stomach dropped and she felt newly generated tears threaten her tear ducts.

"Sure, Ronald. What do you want?" She crossed her arms against her chest; a defence mechanism.

"I'm sorry…for what you saw back there," he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.

"I should have knocked," Hermione waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway," Ron looked at his toes.

Hermione felt he was no longer talking about the scene she had witnessed half an hour ago.

"Apology accepted," she said stiffly, slowly positioning herself behind her desk. Another defence mechanism.

"Would you like to get some lunch?" Ron glanced at her for the first time, his blue eyes locking on to hers. Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed determinedly.

"No, thank you," She tilted her chin up, "I am very busy at the moment."

"Oh," Ron looked down at the mess that was her floor, "Maybe another time?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile, "I don't think so."

Ron sighed, "I said I'm sorry!"

"And I said, apology accepted."

"Then go to lunch with me."

"No."

"Why not?!"

She rounded on him, her eyes dark pools of molten lava.

"You broke my heart, Ron! You broke my heart and now you think you can waltz in here and ask me out to _lunch! _You are an arse, Ronald Weasley, and I want _nothing _to do with you! Get out!" She screeched, tears now front and centre once more.

Ron looked bewildered, but didn't need telling twice. He hurried from her office and she slammed the door behind him.

Blinking the tears back, she bent to continue cleaning her office floor.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and Hermione had never been so thankful to be home.

She sighed as she sprawled on her couch, Crookshanks curling up at her stomach. She scratched behind his ears absentmindedly, and soon she was asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

The next two weeks passed in a pleasant blur for Hermione. Her meetings with Draco had gone well, and she was beginning to enjoy her visits to the manor. When he wasn't busy scowling or throwing angry retorts at her, he was actually quite funny and charming. Of course, she would never allow herself to admit these things.

Hermione also felt lighter for having finally cried over her and Ron's ill-fated relationship. It seemed that the tears she shed had cleansed her of any remaining feelings she harboured for the git, and she was now free to properly move on with her life.

Vivien had been almost unbearable after what Hermione had witnessed in her office. Her boss would attempt to bring it up every time they were together, apologising with feigned chagrin. However, Hermione no longer felt nauseas when she thought of it. She had even giggled the last time Vivien had brought it up.

* * *

On the other hand, Draco had spent the past fortnight in varying degrees of rage, anxiety and hopelessness. He had not heard anything from his mother, and his father had yet to reply to his last letter.

He had been completely honest with Hermione during her last few visits, but he could tell the Ministry were once again growing wary of the lack of information regarding the communication between him and his parents. It was obviously impacting on Hermione's job, though she would never say so.

He had grown to like Hermione Granger, and he had no problem admitting it. She had covered for him after the meeting when he had opened up to her about his letters to his father, and told the Ministry he had written to Lucius about renovations on the manor. Inspired by this lie, he had actually contacted a few Wizard builders and was in the process of getting quotes for completely gutting the place.

Hermione had been a good influence on him. Though, he hardly had time to appreciate this fact due to the constant feeling of foreboding that seemed to follow him about the house. He knew that if anything happened to his mother, he would know about it. The Daily Prophet may not be the nosy, slanderous publication it had been during the reign of Rita Skeeter, but it would still relish in covering the story of Narcissa Malfoy's death or removal from Azkaban to St Mungo's.

* * *

So, it was with a mixture of irritability and excitement Draco looped his favourite tie around his neck the morning of his next meeting with Hermione. It had only recently become his favourite, being made of red satin with gold stripes. He would never have worn such hideous colours prior to his imprisonment. This morning it cheered him, as it was located easily on his bed. His tie had a particularly annoying habit of disappearing, only to be found after he needed it.

"Draco?" Hermione's voice floated up the marble staircase.

"Coming!" He shouted back, lumbering down the stairs two at a time.

He grinned as he entered his sitting room, and found Hermione standing in the middle of it. She was wearing a tight-fitting navy blue skirt which skimmed the top of her knees and a crisp white blouse which showed the top of her breasts. Draco licked his lips and forced his gaze up to meet her eyes.

"How are you?" She smiled, and moved to take a seat in the familiar arm chair.

"Not there," he motioned her out of the chair.

She frowned quizzically at him.

"Follow me," he smiled, and turned to walk down the hall. Hermione collected her things quickly and followed his lead.

They passed many closed doors, until Draco took a sudden right and lead Hermione down a flight of stairs. She wondered briefly if she should be worried about being locked in a cellar, or a dungeon.

"Voila!" Draco said, throwing open a pair of wooden doors located at the bottom of the stair case.

Hermione followed him into the room, and was surprised to find herself surrounded by shelves filled with books.

"Welcome to my library," Draco said softly.

"Wow," Hermione breathed, turning slowly on the spot, "It's almost as big as Hogwart's Library!"

Draco chuckled at her wonderment.

"I thought we could conduct our meeting in here today."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione agreed.

Draco led her to a pair of lounges settled in front of a large window. Hermione thought it must have been charmed to look like they could see out on to the Manor's gardens, as she was certain they were underground.

"Would you like tea?" He asked.

"Yes, please," Hermione nodded.

Minny appeared at Draco's call, and the elf scurried away to prepare their drinks.

"So," Draco started, leaning back in his chair, "What questions do you have for me this week, Miss Granger?"

"The same as always, Mr Malfoy," she responded, opening her file, "Should we start from the beginning?"

"I could think of no better place to start," he smiled.

They continued with their polite banter as she read out the familiar questions.

When she reached the last one, about his parents, Draco sighed and his shoulders slumped.

"Still no word?" Hermione asked softly. She expected Draco to snap at her, but he just shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry," she made a note on the parchment and closed her file. She took one last sip of her tea and made to stand.

"No, wait," Draco looked up. Hermione's heart sank as she recognised the angst in his grey eyes. She slowly sat back down.

"This is going to reflect badly on you, isn't it?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"The Ministry. They're going to want information about my conversations with Father, aren't they? I don't want you to be sent back to filing on my account."

Hermione smiled, "That's not your concern, Draco. You aren't withholding the information any more. You're answering honestly. There isn't much you or I can do if Azkaban are making the delivery process a lot longer than necessary."

"We could lie again," he offered.

"I don't think we should lie unless we absolutely have to," her voice was gentle, but Draco knew there was no point pressing the matter.

"I just…I don't want Morag to come back," he made a face and stood as Hermione did.

Hermione laughed, "Don't worry; I'll be back next week."

"Would you like to come before then?" Draco clamped his lips together, his eyes wide. Had he said that out loud?

Hermione's eyes were wide too.

_Shit!_ He mentally kicked himself.

"Um…" For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was at a loss for words.

"I just meant, well, if you wanted to that is," Draco swallowed thickly, "I'm doing some renovations, you could come and…help?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, "Renovations?"

Draco grinned sheepishly, "You gave me the idea," he admitted.

"Well, I guess I could come and offer my opinion," she said slowly, "It would have to be on a weekend, though. I work Monday to Friday."

"Of course," Draco agreed, "How about this Saturday?"

"That's tomorrow."

Draco smirked.

Hermione searched his face for evidence of…well she didn't really know what she was looking for. She shifted her weight to her other foot and cocked her head to the side.

"Ok," she said finally, "You're on. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Great!" Draco said, a little too enthusiastically.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and they stood there, awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze for a few more moments.

"I should get going," Hermione said.

"Right, of course," Draco nodded solemnly, "I'll show you out."

They walked in silence back up the stairs and down the hall.

When they got to the front door, Draco opened it for Hermione. She nodded her thanks and swept past him. He lent against the door frame and watched her walk away.

She turned and grinned as she reached the apparition point. Draco lifted his arm in a stiff wave, and she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

The next morning, Hermione woke before the sun. She stretched, feeling wide awake and groaned when she noticed the time. She rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her body to relax back into a slumber.

Half an hour later, the sun had not made an appearance, and Hermione gave up. She padded down the hall to her kitchen, and flicked the button on her kettle. It whirred to life and soon the water was sloshing about inside its confines, signalling it was ready to be poured over her coffee grounds.

Hermione loved the smell of coffee in the morning, even if it was instant. She sipped her drink and sat herself at her small table. She tapped her fingernails against the side of her mug, and faced the window. It wasn't long before the sun poked its yellow beams over the horizon, and a small owl was making its way to her apartment.

She stood and opened the window in time for the bird to soar through and land gracefully on the bench. It dropped the Daily Prophet, and clicked its beak expectantly. Hermione held out her mug of coffee, and the owl gratefully dipped its beak into the brown liquid.

With a hoot of thanks, the owl took flight and was soon imperceptible against the orange and pink tinges of the morning sky.

Hermione shook the paper out brusquely as she sat back down. She scanned the front page, and found nothing of interest. She scanned the articles on the first few pages but found her mind would not concentrate on the words her eyes were mechanically following.

She threw the paper down with a huff and drained her mug. She was excited. There, she admitted it. She was looking forward to seeing Draco in a context that was not professional.

Of course, she reminded herself, she would still have to be professional. She may be meeting him 'off the record' but she could not let her guard down to the point of interfering with her work.

* * *

A few hours later, at a much more respectable time, Hermione stepped out of her shower and was towel drying her hair when the shrill ring of her telephone sounded from the kitchen.

She straightened up, her wet hair flicking over her shoulders, sending droplets of water flying over the tiled walls and mirror. She frowned; the only people who had her telephone number were Harry and her parents.

"Hello?" She tucked the receiver between her ear and shoulder so she could pull her underwear on.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice sounded from the other end.

"Harry!" Hermione stumbled, trying to aim her right foot through the correct hole "Is everything ok?"

"No…I mean yes…I mean it wasn't, but it is now."

"What happened? Are you ok?"

"Ginny had the baby!" he blurted out.

"Oh my God!" Hermione squealed.

"It's a boy!" Harry announced; pride evident in his voice.

"Oh my God!" Hermione repeated, and having successfully positioned her underwear, began jumping up and down.

"His name is James Sirius Potter. He wasn't meant to come for another couple of weeks, gave us quite a scare. But the Healer said he's very healthy and we'll be able to take him home in a few days."

"Oh, Harry! Congratulations!" Hermione squeaked, tears of joy pooling in her eyes, "How is Ginny?"

"She's great; tired, but doing well."

"Tell her I said congratulations, too," Hermione ordered, "I'll come and visit you tomorrow. I have a…" she paused, "I have work to do today."

"On a Saturday?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Er…yes. Vivien is practically on top of me with the Malfoy case," Hermione hoped she sounded indifferent.

"Ah," Harry said, his tone understanding, "Well that's not a problem. We'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bye, Harry."

Hermione hung up and slowly retraced her steps back to her bathroom.

She wondered if she should cancel her date with Draco. _Not a date! _She scolded herself.

She was very excited to meet the newest member of the Potter/Weasley family, but she was also apprehensive of being in a room with all of them. Especially Ron. And Vivien would be there too, no doubt.

She reasoned that she wasn't putting Draco, a mere client, before her two best friends and their newborn baby; she was simply allowing them to spend the time with their family, and she would visit tomorrow, when the coast was clear.

With her justification in place, Hermione set to work taming her hair.

* * *

Draco was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, his hands resting on either side of the sink. He looked at his reflection, grey eyes meeting grey eyes. Tension was evident in his shoulders, and etched on his face. He sighed. He was nervous about having Hermione under his roof for something other than their required meetings.

Draco knew he could not appear this way to Hermione, however, and he was expecting her any second. He loosened his grip on the white marble, and stood straight. He shook his arms and rolled his shoulders back a few times. Then he lent his head from one side to the other, with his eyes closed. He opened them, took a deep breath and met his own gaze in the mirror again. He smirked. _Much better,_ he thought.

He was halfway down the stairs when he felt the wards shimmy around him. He quickened his pace, and arrived in the foyer just as Hermione reached the front steps.

He stood awkwardly, suddenly very aware of his arms hanging by his sides; what did he usually do with them? Before he could move, the front door opened.

Hermione smiled as she entered the manor, and clipped the door shut behind her. Draco smiled back, admiring her light-coloured jeans and simple red sweater.

"Hi," she said, stopping a few paces in front of him.

He cleared his throat, "Hello."

There was an awkward silence, finally broken by the _crack! _of apparitionannouncing Minny's arrival.

"Tea is served in the East courtyard, sir!" She curtseyed low to Draco, and then again to Hermione.

"Thank you, Minny," Draco nodded and turned abruptly to follow the skipping elf. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his back, but fell in to step behind him.

They sat down in pristine white chairs, situated around an equally pristine white table. The garden around them was made up of plants Hermione recognised only from Herbology textbooks. There were flowers of every colour, and bright green and yellow foliage that bent and swayed in the soft breeze. Hermione thought it was very beautiful.

She said as much to Draco, as he poured tea in to her cup.

"It's my mother's," he said shortly, "She has a particularly green thumb."

"I'm certain my thumbs are black," Hermione mused, "I had a garden back at my parent's house. I killed everything I grew. Dad said I loved them too much, gave them too much water."

Draco chuckled and sipped his tea.

"I thought we could sit out here and discuss some of the ideas I've had regarding the renovations," he sat up straighter in his chair.

Hermione almost choked on her tea. It sounded as though he was speaking to his interior designer, his tone was so formal.

"Ok," Hermione nodded, hiding a smile behind her cup.

"The contractors will be here this afternoon," he continued, "I want to have a plan ready for them."

"Ok," Hermione repeated.

"What?" Draco frowned, noticing her smirk.

"Nothing," her eyes widened in feigned innocence

"Granger, I know a smirk when I see one. I'm a Malfoy, we practically invented the expression."

Hermione grinned.

"So, why were you smirking?" He lent back in his chair, and placed his hands in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione bit her lip, and Draco was momentarily distracted. What were they talking about again?

"Draco?"

He shook himself, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said; I was smirking because you were talking to me like I was someone you employed to redecorate your house."

"Oh," Draco frowned, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Hermione waved a hand dismissively, "This is weird for me, too."

Draco smiled and downed the last of his tea.

"Would you like to see the attic?" He asked, rising from his seat, "There's a heap of junk I want to go through up there."

Hermione nodded and took the hand he offered to help her out of her chair. She felt a warm tingle spread up her arm from where their hands met, and it faded quickly as he let go. Hermione was surprised to find she was disappointed at the loss of contact.

* * *

"…Mostly antiques from past generations which have now been out-dated," Draco was saying.

Hermione shook herself out of her reverie as they ascended the steps to the attic. As Hermione reached the landing, Draco took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the door.

"Alohomora," he said quietly, and the lock clicked open.

They entered a dark room, which smelt of wet dirt.

"No one's been up here for years," Draco whispered. He muttered the incantation to light the room, and soon they were bathed in a warm glow.

Hermione advanced into the attic, and saw boxes upon boxes stacked up against each wall. There were ornaments cluttered all over the floor, and several old rugs hung magically from the ceiling in the centre.

Draco glanced around, his nose screwed up in distaste. He wanted to dispose of everything up here. He had no use for any of the junk, and it was just collecting mould and dust.

"It's brilliant!" Hermione whispered, her eyes bright with excitement. She turned slowly on the spot, a silly grin on her face. Draco couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Trust you, Granger," he said.

"What?" Hermione asked defensively.

Draco just shook his head, and Hermione went back to exploring.

"So what do you want to do with all this stuff?" Hermione asked some minutes later. Her hands were on her hips, and a curly lock of hair was hanging stubbornly in front of one eye.

Normally, Draco would have found such a casual look on a female unappealing, but it suited Hermione.

He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze from her face to her shoes, "I'll donate some of it. It's old enough to be placed in a museum or something. Perhaps Hogwarts could use a few things, for classes and such. The rest of it, I'll throw out."

"No!" Hermione cried.

"I have no use for this stuff," Draco shrugged and aimed a kick at a nearby box.

"It could be really valuable," Hermione admonished.

"Oh yeah," he scoffed, "Because that's what I need; more money."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "What about your parents?"

Draco stiffened and Hermione instantly regretted her words. She pushed her stray lock of hair back from her face furiously and berated herself for not having a filter between her brain and her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said quietly. He didn't move, "I'm sorry. Please just forget I said anything."

She moved slowly towards him, "Draco?"

Before she could stop it, her right arm had stretched towards the statue-like blonde, and she placed her hand on his broad back.

He jumped slightly at the contact but made no move to turn around.

"It's fine," He said hoarsely.

Hermione let her hand drag down his shirt, before it fell back to her side.

He blinked rapidly and turned to face her, "I don't think they'd mind," he said slowly, "Mother would have a fit if the drapes didn't match the ornaments," He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes.

Hermione nodded, "Ok then; let's get to work."

* * *

Two hours later, Hermione called Draco over to where she had seated herself in the middle of several towers of boxes.

"Isn't this the vase I broke on my first visit here?" She held the heavy green ornament gingerly out in front of her.

Draco moved closer and crouched next to her.

"I think so…" Draco frowned, "But I don't understand," He plopped on his backside and took the vase from her hands.

Hermione was silent for a moment, racking her brain for any memory of reading about re-appearing antiques.

"I only know that the vase you broke had been given to the first Malfoy to arrive in Britain, back in 1066; Armand Malfoy. My Father said it was a present from the King, William the First."

Hermione's eyes widened at the history she had destroyed all those weeks ago. She had known the Malfoy family were able to be traced back many centuries, but she had no idea they had been around that long.

Draco set the vase down carefully and looked over at his companion, who was still staring blankly ahead of her.

"Hermione?" He said softly.

She jolted out of her trance and turned her face slowly towards him.

He swallowed as his gaze fell to her lips. They were slightly open, and he had a sudden urge to lean forward and capture them in his.

When he came to his senses, he realised he had subconsciously leaned in towards Hermione, and she had mirrored his movements. Their faces were so close; he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

He pulled back quickly, snapping whatever tension had been flowing between them.

Hermione was rigid, still leaning slightly towards Draco. She cleared her throat and slowly pulled back.

She stood and wiped the dust from her jeans.

"The builders will be here soon," Draco said mechanically, still sitting on the floor.

Hermione nodded, "I better be going," she said and started moving to the door of the attic. She had reached the bottom of the stairs before Draco shot to his feet and ran after her.

He caught her as she was about to turn the handle of the front door.

"Thank you," he panted, "For helping me with the attic."

She smiled tightly in response, "It was my pleasure."

"See you next week?"

"See you next week," she echoed and closed the door behind her.

Draco ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. He turned quickly on the spot and snapped at his elves to start preparing some food.

* * *

Hermione was barely able to keep her breathing under control as she landed in her flat. She sank on to her couch, her eyes unseeing as she stared into her empty fire place.

She had almost kissed Draco Malfoy! So much for all that talk about professionalism this morning.

She couldn't possibly have real feelings for the man. He had tormented her throughout their entire education at Hogwarts, and he had been rude and cruel during the beginning of his case meetings.

She sighed. But he had changed towards her in the past few weeks. He still teased her, but it was good natured teasing. He smiled genuinely, he laughed, and he was no longer snapping at her and throwing her out of his house when she asked sensitive questions.

But could she _like_ him? Really like him? And if she did, would he really like her back?

She shook her head. There was no way Draco Malfoy; elitist pureblood, supporter of Lord Voldemort, would ever see Hermione as anything other than his case-worker, or tentative friend.


	11. Chapter 11

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

"You almost kissed her?!" Blaise Zabini choked; Firewhiskey dribbling down his chin.

"I didn't intend for it to happen," Draco snapped, staring resolutely out in to the manor grounds.

"Well, fuck," Blaise said, mopping at the front of his robes with a handkerchief.

"Yep," Draco dropped his gaze.

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do about it? Do you like her?"

Draco sighed, "I'm not going to do anything, Blaise."

"Really? That's it? You have a…a moment," he grinned, "and you're not going to follow it up?"

"There isn't anything to follow up," Draco scowled and poured more Firewhiskey into his crystal glass.

"You're a fool, Malfoy."

"You think so, do you?"

"I know so," Blaise said sagely, "Granger is a good looking witch, and she has brains; very hard to come by these days."

"She's also Muggleborn and helped defeat the Dark Lord," Draco added, "We were never on the same side; that's not an easy thing to move on from."

"Ok, first of all; fuck you, Draco, for being such a bigoted arsehole. Get the fuck over her blood status, and see her for who she really is! And secondly; she also helped _you_ get out of Azkaban," Blaise pointed an accusatory finger at his friend and Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"My father would implode in his cell if he found out."

"Merlin, help me!" Blaise threw his hands up in exasperation, the amber liquid sloshing about in his glass, "Last time I checked, mate, you were twenty-three. Not thirteen! You don't have to make decisions based on what Daddy-dearest wants anymore! Did you learn nothing from all those years behind bars?"

"Of course I did!" Draco hissed, "I'm just saying…we're too different."

"So you like her?"

"No."

"Draco…" Blaise cocked his head to the side and a wide know-it-all grin spread across his face, "You like her."

"I do not like her."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You do."

"Blaise…"

"You like Hermione Granger. Admit it!"

"Alright, fine!" Draco huffed, "I like her! Are you happy now?"

"Deliriously."

"You can't tell anyone."

"You mean I can't tell _Pansy,"_ Blaise corrected.

"No, I mean you can't tell anyone, _especially_ Pansy."

Blaise grinned again, and raised his glass to his lips.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Harry spoke slowly, "You went to Draco Malfoy's house – by choice – on the day James was born, and you almost kiss-" he choked, "_kissed_ him?"

Hermione nodded, staring glumly at her hands.

Ginny clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes betraying her mirth.

"Ginny Potter, if you laugh I will hex you," Hermione threatened.

Ginny quickly turned her giggle into a hacking cough. Harry shot his wife a look, then turned back to glare at Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she sighed, "I went over there because he asked me for my opinion on the renovations for his house."

Ginny's face was now pressed into one of the couch pillows and Hermione's mouth twitched.

"And you almost kissed him?"

"I don't know how it happened!" Hermione moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Do you like him?" Harry demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Ginny's laughter penetrated the material of the cushion and he rolled his eyes.

"What is so funny?" He demanded.

"I'm just glad we had a son," she grinned, "You're treating Hermione like a daughter who's come home with her first boyfriend."

"This is not a boyfriend we're talking about, Ginny!" Harry huffed, "It's Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"

"Oh, who cares?" Ginny shrugged, "If Hermione's happy, I'm happy. Are you happy, Hermione?"

"Ah…"

"Do you like him?" Harry repeated.

"No…Yes…I don't…fuck."

"YOU LIKE HIM!" Ginny squealed.

"Yeah, ok, I like him. We're not _together,_ though. And we're never going to be. Draco has changed a lot since his release, and we have become something like friends, but that's it. He still believes in pureblood superiority, and I'm still a Muggleborn. End of story."

"Well, then he doesn't deserve you," Harry said simply, unfolding his arms.

Hermione sighed and slumped back into the lounge.

* * *

It had been over two weeks since their almost-kiss, as Ginny referred to it, and things were awkward. This morning was set to be even more awkward in Draco's mind, as he had received a letter from his father the night before.

"Draco!" The familiar voice wafted through the house. Draco took his time walking down the stairs, and found Hermione perched in an armchair in their usual sitting room.

He sat opposite her and stared at the floor. Hermione's smile faltered and she fought the urge to slap the man in front of her. She was willing to put the incident behind her; why couldn't he be mature and do the same?

"How are you?" She asked.

"I received a letter from Father last night," he said monotonously.

"Oh?" Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"I asked him for some information on that vase you broke."

"The one we found in the attic?"

"Yes…no…well, sort of," Draco ran a hand through his hair and Hermione admired the way it fell across his eyes in messy clumps.

"It turns out; the vase we found in the attic was one half of a pair of vases given to my ancestors by the King."

Hermione nodded, though Draco did not notice as he was still admiring the carpet.

"Father says the vases are linked to the Norse Gods Odin and Frigg," he screwed his face up in confusion, "Have you heard of them?" He finally glanced up and met Hermione's gaze.

Her cheeks coloured under his scrutiny and she cleared her throat.

"Yes, I know a little about them."

Draco sighed in relief, "Good."

"What's going on?" Hermione leaned forward subconsciously, and Draco almost threw himself at her as the peaks of her breast appeared invitingly over the top of her low-cut blouse.

"What do you know?" He forced his gaze back to her eyes.

"Odin is a god of war and death," Hermione started, adopting her teacher-ish voice, "and his wife, Frigg, is able to tell the future; though she would not often reveal what she saw."

Draco leaned back in to the soft upholstery and closed his eyes.

"I don't understand how that relates to my family's vases."

Hermione shrugged and fidgeted with her quill.

"Where is the vase?" She asked.

"In my study," Draco answered without moving.

"Can I see it?"

Draco raised himself slowly out of his chair and returned a minute later, the green vase clutched delicately in his hands. He handed it to Hermione wordlessly and took his seat again.

Hermione moved the vase around in her hands, squinting at the inscriptions she had admired during her first visit to the manor.

"I think these are runes," she murmured.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry; I think these are runes," she raised her voice, "See here?" She moved to sit on the edge of her chair, so she could hold the vase out between them.

Draco hesitated before he inched himself forward and lent over the ornament.

"I guess they could be," he whispered.

"I think they're Norse runes; like Vikings would have used."

"Ok," he stated slowly.

"I could try to decipher them," Hermione offered, suddenly very aware of Draco's soft dress shirt brushing against the bare skin of her upper arm.

Draco seemed to have realised the same thing, as he cleared his throat and moved to sit as far back in his chair as possible.

"Yeah, I guess that would be the smart thing to do."

"Great, well should we get started now, or should I come back another time?" Hermione set the vase down on the floor near her feet and looked up at Draco. He met her eyes reluctantly.

"Why don't you just take it home with you? Take as long as you like, and just bring it back when you're ready," He shrugged.

Hermione frowned, "You're going to let me, a Muggleborn, take your priceless family heirloom home with me?"

Draco nodded, "I thought it would be fairly obvious, Granger, that I don't harbor the same resentments towards you as I once did. I trust you with the vase. Take it with you, study it, and return it."

"I'm going to need access to your library," she folded her arms across her chest.

"Feel free to take as many books on the subject, too."

"You're not going to help me with this?" Her tone was accusatory.

Draco sighed in defeat, "Fine, Granger. Come back tomorrow, we'll figure it out. Happy?"

"No. I have work tomorrow. I'll be back on Saturday."

"Great, whatever. Are we done here?" Draco scowled.

"No, I haven't asked you any questions yet."

"Well, hurry up. Let's get this over with."

Hermione felt anger bubble up her spine, but she refused to acknowledge it in front of Draco. There was no way she was going to show him how he could affect her.

* * *

"You actually _invited_ that Mudblood over for something other than your case meetings?" Pansy asked incredulously as the pair sat eating dinner later that night.

"Yes," Draco answered curtly.

"Do you like her?" Pansy demanded.

"No," he lied.

"I'm sorry," Pansy's voice softened, "I should have known that was a stupid question," she smirked and looked at him under hooded eyelids as she sipped her wine. Draco fought the urge to gag.

"She broke a vase," he explained, "I found an identical one in the attic last weekend. I asked her to help me decipher the runes on the vase."

"Do you think it means something?" Pansy asked, her bare leg connecting with Draco's under the table. She began to rub it up and down the length of his trousers. Draco gritted his teeth.

"I don't know," he hissed.

Unwilling to talk about Hermione Granger any longer, Pansy changed the topic of conversation to the shopping trip she had been on that day. She began describing all the pieces of lingerie she had brought, but Draco tuned her out. He let his mind drift, and was soon picturing Hermione in stringy pieces of lacy material.

"Are you listening to me, Draco?" Pansy's shrill voice snapped him out of his daydreams.

"What? Yes! Yes, of course." Draco shook himself as Pansy continued her tirade.

He attempted to pay attention to what she was saying, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Hermione. Draco sighed inwardly. He would have to take a very cold shower once Pansy left.


	12. Chapter 12

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

* * *

A few days later, Hermione was sitting on the floor of the vast Malfoy library, surrounded by mountainous tomes. The vase sat next to her, and she referred to its inscriptions as she squinted down at the information in her lap. Draco watched her as she read and consulted the ornament, leaning back regally in the recliner he had conjured. He refused to do something so beneath his status, like sit on the floor. He was confused as to why Hermione would want to do so, though he imagined it had something to do with her parents being Muggles. He wondered if they had chairs in their house.

"From what I have read so far, it's a prophecy," Hermione sighed eventually, leaning her head to the side to stretch out her aching neck.

"A prophecy? As in, our world will once again be graced with a presence such as Potter?" Draco bit out.

Hermione scowled. He had been nothing but antagonistic since she had walked through his front door three hours ago.

"No," she gritted her teeth, "It was written about your family, I think. Come here," she motioned for him to join her on the floor and he screwed his nose up.

"I will not sit on the floor, Granger. Bring the vase here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "You had no problem sitting on the floor in the attic," She reminded him.

Draco's cheeks flushed, and his eyes flashed at the memory. He huffed as he rose out of his comfortable seat, and stalked over to where Hermione was sitting. He crouched, but refused to place his backside on the floor.

"What am I meant to be looking at?"

"Here," she pointed, "These runes spell out your surname."

Draco stared. He had taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, but had found the subject rather tedious.

"So how do you know it's a prophecy?" He asked.

"Well here," Hermione turned the vase over, "I think it says 'To break is to mend, to defy is to conquer, to love is to save' and then over here," she turned the vase again, "I think this says 'Frigg', the Norse Goddess your Father was talking about."

Draco stared at her incredulously. Hermione fought back a giggle at his confused expression.

"I told you, Frigg hardly ever spoke about her visions of the future. If I had to take a guess, she inscribed a vision on these vases," Hermione explained.

"Granger," Draco drawled, "These vases are almost a thousand years old. If a prophecy was written on them, surely it would have been realised by now." He eased himself back on to his feet and loomed over her, arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

"I never said she saw into the near future, Draco," Hermione huffed, "This could be relevant to any member of the Malfoy family, of any generation."

"I think it's highly unlikely," he smirked.

"You would," she shrugged.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"As if you don't know!" Hermione stood suddenly and glared at him.

Draco took a step back, alarmed at the fury he saw in her gaze.

"What is your problem?!" She demanded, "You've been baiting me since I got here!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He spat back.

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed, "Ever since the incident in the attic you've been insufferable! I came over today to help you and your Merlin-forsaken family, and you're acting like a bloody prat!"

"Well gee, Granger, don't hold back," Draco said sarcastically, "Tell me how you really feel."

"You're impossible!" Hermione growled, throwing her hands in the air, "I'll get out of your precious, peroxided hair and will not return unless it is for our meetings." She stormed off, and Draco glared daggers at the green vase, wondering vaguely what she meant by 'peroxided'.

Draco groaned and closed his eyes.

"Hermione!" He called, slowly turning to jog after her, "Hermione wait!"

"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy. Figure the vase out on your own!" She slammed the front door and Draco wrenched it open after her.

"I'm sorry!" He choked.

"What?" Hermione stopped and turned to face him.

"You heard me, Granger. I'm not about to repeat it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Hurt enough the first time did it?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "Almost tore my throat in half."

She smirked.

"Come back inside. I promise I'll stop acting like a prat."

She conceded, and allowed him to lead her back to the library.

* * *

They worked in companionable silence for a while longer, before Draco suggested they take a break and have something to eat. Hermione wanted to continue working, but Draco pried her off the floor and half-dragged her to his kitchen.

"_You're_ going to cook?" Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Granger, don't look so worried," he smirked, "I may be a pureblood, but I'm not useless."

"I'm impressed," Hermione murmured and leant against the island counter in the middle of the room.

She watched him move about the kitchen, as he prepared a pot of soup on the stove. He swished his wand and ingredients began chopping themselves on the countertop, and then slid into the bubbling broth.

"Look, Hermione," Draco turned, running a hand through his already unkempt hair and stared at the floor, "I…I wanted to apologise, albeit belatedly, for what happened in the attic," he said in a rush.

Hermione frowned, "What is there to be sorry for?"

Draco cocked his head to the side, his expression questioning.

"Well I suppose you would be sorry; you were about to soil your lips with the dirt of a Muggleborn," Hermione spat. She felt an angry blush crawl up her cheeks, and she fought to keep from crying.

Draco blinked, "What the fuck are you on about?"

"I'm not an idiot, Malfoy!"

"Clearly," he drawled.

"You almost kissed me!" She shouted, "And you want to _apologise_ for it?!"

"You're overreacting," he said calmly, "That's not how I meant it."

"So how did you mean it?" She demanded.

Hermione blinked, and Draco was in front of her, staring angrily into her eyes. His hands found the edge of the counter and gripped it, trapping her between his arms. She could feel his uneven breath on the side of her face.

She lowered her eyes, unable to stand the intensity of his grey orbs boring into her brown ones. He hooked a pale finger under her chin and coaxed her to raise her face towards him again.

"D-Draco…" she stammered.

"Shh," he breathed, slowly lowering his face towards hers. She closed her eyes and a moment later, she felt a tingle up her spine as their lips connected.

The kiss was soft, tentative. Hermione's mind reeled as Draco slowly lifted one of his hands and placed it gently on the back of her neck. He let his fingers gently tangle in her soft hair, which she had left down today.

As his tongue flicked gently along her bottom lip, Hermione abruptly came back to her senses. She placed her palms on Draco's chest and pushed gently.

"Draco," she murmured. He groaned.

"What is it?" He huffed, taking a step back from her.

"What…what was that?" Hermione's voice trembled.

"It was a kiss, Granger. I knew your experience was limited, but I thought you would at least know what a kiss is."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. If you're going to go back to being an arsehole, I'll leave," she threatened.

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"I was simply showing you that I had no qualms about placing my lips on yours," he stated.

"And that's it?"

"Yes, that was it," he lied through gritted teeth.

Hermione frowned. She turned and waltzed out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Draco sighed and ran a hand exasperatedly over his handsome face. He wasn't about to tell her he liked her, but he wished he didn't feel so horrible about lying to Hermione.

"I'm going to go," she announced from the doorway as she struggled into her coat. Draco took a step forward, intending to help her, but she stepped backwards and shot him a look. He froze in place, and then dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

"Fine," he scowled.

"I'm taking the vase, and a couple of books," Hermione held up a bag she had charmed to hold several large tomes, and lifted the vase up off the floor, "I'll have the inscriptions figured out before our next meeting."

He nodded his assent, and she disappeared.

* * *

_I kissed Draco Malfoy. I kissed Draco Malfoy. I fucking KISSED Draco fucking Malfoy…_

Hermione was unable to concentrate on the page she was reading. She had arrived back at her flat hours ago, and it was now dark. She had set herself up on her lounge, and she had not moved, except to quickly make herself a sandwich.

"I kissed Draco Malfoy," she whispered to herself, and touched a finger to her lips.

A familiar tingle rippled through her as she remembered the way his hand had curled tenderly around the base of her neck, and how his long fingers had caressed her curly locks. She wanted to feel that again; she wanted to kiss him again.

She groaned, frustrated, and buried her head in her hands. Crookshanks stared at her with his wide eyes.

Hermione closed the book in her lap and moved it so it was next to her on the couch. She stood and marched, zombie-like to her bedroom. She collapsed face down on her bed, and fell into a fitful slumber; her dreams plagued with the handsome pointed features and pale-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

Draco was pacing nervously the following week. The past six days had been hell on earth, in his opinion, and he was anxiously awaiting Hermione's arrival.

At precisely elven 'o'clock, the wards shimmied around him and Draco's heart leapt into his throat. He fidgeted with his tie, and stood behind an arm chair. Then he thought it would look like he had been waiting for her, and quickly scurried out of the room as the front door opened.

Draco berated himself for being such a prat as he caught his breath just outside the hall way.

"Hello?" Hermione sounded weary.

Draco pushed himself off of the wall and turned to greet her.

"Hi," he said quietly, and took in her appearance.

Hermione's hair was down, which was odd for a work day, she was wearing tailored suit pants instead of her usual skirt, and her torso was covered in a plain, men's style shirt. Her eyes were dull and had purple shadows beneath them, and she seemed thinner than usual. Draco frowned in concern.

"If you're done appraising me, can we sit down?" Hermione snapped, interrupting his thoughts.

Draco flushed lightly and nodded, signalling for her to move into the sitting room before him. Hermione fell into an arm chair and dragged her oversized bag towards her.

"I have your vase," she pulled out the ornament and set it carefully on the floor.

"Were you able to decipher it?" Draco asked hopefully as he settled himself opposite her.

Hermione shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"All that I found was what I was able to decipher in your library last week. Your surname and the inscriptions about breaking and mending…" her tone was listless and Draco noticed her eyelids were drooping.

"So…" he prompted.

"Well, I did find Frigg's name on here," Hermione lurched forward and lifted the vase, "Right here," she pointed to the very bottom of the ornament, where the inscriptions were so tiny they were not able to be read by the naked eye.

"So it's definitely a prophecy then?"

"I would assume so," Hermione sighed, "The problem is that half of it is missing. Well, I think it is," she frowned, "the other vase…I think it would have had the rest of the prophecy inscribed on it."

"Oh," Draco nodded, "What should we do now, then?"

Hermione shrugged, "Does it matter?"

A yawn overtook her, and she covered her mouth politely. Her eyelids drooped further and her hand fell unceremoniously from her face to the couch. Draco fought the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed. It was obvious something had been disturbing her sleep.

"It matters to me," Draco said quietly, "But I can take over from here. I'll ask my father what he thinks later."

"Oh, yes, right…" Hermione fumbled in her bag again and withdrew her file.

"Your father…contact?" She asked him as she stifled another yawn.

"Not since the last time I told you," Draco answered.

"Oh fuck!" Hermione exclaimed, snapping the file shut.

Draco jumped. She had been talking in barely a whisper all morning and now she was shouting.

"What?" He asked in alarm.

"I've brought the wrong bloody file!" Hermione huffed.

Tears of frustration sprung into her eyes and Draco panicked at the thought of her crying. He racked his brain for a response that would ease Hermione's temper but before he could utter a syllable, the petite witch in front of him had broken down in tears.

Her face was in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. Her shoulders were hunched around her small frame and shook with heavy sobs.

"I'm s-sorry," she moaned into her hands, "I h-haven't b-been…sleeping…w-well."

Draco sat shocked and frozen in his chair, leaning forward as though he wanted to comfort her, but did not quite know how to go about it.

"I've b-been up all n-night every n-night this w-week," Hermione continued, tears trickling down her palms and disappearing into the sleeve of her shirt, "Th-that b-bloody vase!" she spat, "And you!"

Hermione finally snapped her head up, and glared at Draco. Her brown eyes bore ferociously into his and for a second he was taken aback. But then anger flared, as it always did when he felt threatened, and he bit back.

"What the fuck have I done?" He asked, his voice an octave higher than usual. Hermione gave a bark of laughter.

"It's your bloody vase, isn't it?" She hissed, madly attacking her face with the back of her hand. It came away black and wet from her tears and running mascara.

"I didn't intend for you to give up sleep to decipher it!" Draco said, exasperated.

"It wasn't just that keeping me awake!" Hermione's eyes were wide and her voice was shrill. Draco had spent two years living under the same roof as Lord Voldemort, and nearly six years in Azkaban, yet he would still state that an overtired, overwrought Hermione was much scarier than anything he had ever faced.

"You-you _kissed me_!" she shouted, rising to her feet, "And tell me that it was just _proof_ that you can _stand me_!"

Draco stood, and stared down at her with bewilderment etched all over his face.

"You don't get it do you?" she demanded, "I! Like! You!" she punctured each word with a poke to Draco's chiselled chest.

Draco calmly circled her tiny wrist with his hand, and pulled it away from the front of his shirt. Her nails were sharp and had dug painfully into his skin.

"What?" He breathed, when he was sure Hermione would not physically assault him again.

"Never mind," Hermione muttered, her voice now wavering with barely concealed embarrassment.

"But I do mind, Granger," Draco drawled, "because it sounded like you said that you _like _me. Is that what you said? That you _like _me?"

Hermione stared at the floor and felt hot tears form in her eyes. She blinked them back furiously, but they would not relent. They spilled over her cheeks and dripped on to her shirt, staining the white fabric a dull grey.

It took a couple of seconds for Draco to realise he'd reduced Hermione to tears again.

"Hermione?" He whispered. She sniffed and continued to stare down at their shoes.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and pulled her frail form towards him. She buried her face into his broad chest and sobbed.

"Shh," he soothed, "It's nothing to cry about…"

"It _is_!" Came the muffled reply, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Well if it makes you feel any better…" Draco began, but found the words stuck in his throat. He cleared it, and tried again but his vocal cords betrayed him.

"What?" Hermione extracted herself from his embrace and stared into his grey eyes. He tried to convey what he wanted to tell her in his gaze, but she was frowning in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I just wanted you to stop crying," He said gruffly, "I know the questions; I'll owl my answers to you for your report."

Hermione nodded, her throat so tight she was sure she would never be able to swallow again, and bent to pick up her things.

She dumped the books from the Malfoy library carelessly onto the armchair she had occupied, and then flounced towards the door in a display of energy she had not been able to exert in the past three days.

Draco heard the door clip shut and slumped to the floor.

"I like you too," he whispered.

* * *

The following morning, Hermione woke up feeling like she had taken on a fully grown mountain troll with her bare hands…and lost.

She groaned as she rolled over, every muscle in her body aching. Rubbing a hand soothingly across her forehead, she recalled yesterday's events and a new wave of humiliation crashed over her.

Draco had been kind enough to owl her through his responses yesterday afternoon so she had not missed the deadline for her report. After it was securely placed in Vivien's inbox folder, Hermione had apparated home and collapsed, fully clothed, in to bed.

She had slept for a solid eighteen hours, though she felt worse than she had when she was foregoing sleep to decipher than damn vase.

Hermione groaned at the memory. She would have to go and apologise to Draco for her behaviour yesterday. She was his case worker; their relationship was to be strictly professional. Nowhere in the job description did it state she was to fall for him.

Unfortunately, her heart seemed to have missed the memo and continued to flutter stupidly in her chest as she thought of the unfairly handsome blonde who had become the bane of her existence.

Hermione threw the covers back angrily and stomped to her bathroom. She scrubbed her body vigorously, as if trying to remove her feelings for Draco with her frilly pink loofa. After washing her hair thoroughly – twice, because she had been too distracted by the memory of Draco's hard chest to notice she had just finished rinsing the conditioner out the first time – Hermione wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and stalked over to her small mirror. She rubbed a hand over the foggy glass to reveal her reflection and sighed.

Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from all the crying she had done yesterday. Her skin was blotchy, and her shoulder bones looked pointy. She had been skipping meals lately, focused only on the vase in the hopes she would find something so amazing, Draco would have to kiss her again out of sheer excitement and awe at her brilliance.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had been neglecting it for a week, and she quickly dried and styled her hair.

After a monumental breakfast, Hermione dressed in a pretty summer dress and flat sandals. She did her make up, and admired how her appearance had drastically improved from the day before.

She then grabbed her wand and her coat, and apparated from her living room to outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Draco felt the wards shimmy around him, and looked up from his coffee.

"Hello, Draco," a familiar voice purred.

Draco bristled and gripped the handle of his mug.

"Hello, Pansy," He said coldly.

The witch appeared in front of him dressed in the shortest skirt he had ever seen, and a tight tube top.

"What can I do for you?" He drawled lazily.

"You haven't returned any of my owls," Pansy pouted, "I've sent three so far…"

Draco stood to place his coffee cup on the kitchen counter.

Pansy was right behind him, and as he turned around he came face to face with her brilliant white smile.

"Pansy what are you doing?" He felt his back press into the counter.

"What do you want me to do?" she purred seductively.

"I-"

Pansy's hot mouth was on his neck, gently sucking at the sensitive skin at the opening of his collar. He knew he should push her away, he didn't want this, but it felt so _good_ and it had been so long since he'd had any kind of intimate interaction with a woman.

"Draco," she whispered, moving her lips up his neck to his jawline.

"Pansy, stop…" Draco hissed, his fists clenching around the flimsy material of her top, bracing himself to push her away.

"Why?" she breathed, and then placed her mouth on his. Her tongue flicked into his mouth, coaxing him to reciprocate.

"Oh my God!" Someone shrieked and the pair broke apart.

Draco was dazed, his gaping mouth covered in Pansy's red lipstick.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed in shock.

Pansy smirked triumphantly.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, attempting to smooth the front of his shirt. Hermione's wide eyes noticed the lipstick stain on his collar, and the trail of perfectly formed lip-prints to his mouth. She swallowed, forcing the boiling stream of half-digested bacon and eggs back down her oesophagus.

"I...I came to apologise," she whispered, "for yesterday."

Her eyes were still wide, staring at Draco as if she hadn't really seen him until now.

Pansy folded her arms across her chest and stepped back towards Draco.

"You'll have to come back another time. Draco's busy right now." She grinned maliciously.

Draco's eyes were locked on Hermione, his brain unable to process what was happening.

"I can see that," Hermione said, her eyes vacant.

"Perhaps you could confine your visits to my boyfriend's home to when your job calls for it," Pansy bit out.

"Yes, of course," Hermione nodded, too dazed to properly understand what was coming out of her mouth.

She turned and stumbled out of the kitchen, her legs threatening to collapse under her at any moment, and made her way back to the front door.

What had she been expecting? She had laid it out on the table for Draco yesterday, and he had discarded her confession. She was stupid, thinking that he had not begun a relationship with Pansy Parkinson straight after his release. They had been an item for most of the years they had all been at Hogwarts.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _She reprimanded herself in time with her hurried footsteps.

"Hermione!" Draco was running behind her, screaming like a wild banshee, "Hermione wait! It's not what it looked like!" He pleaded, two steps from the front door.

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Hermione spat, and threw open the wooden barrier that stood between the man that had broken her already battered heart, and perpetual loneliness.

* * *

Draco had rounded on Pansy the second he saw Hermione slip down the front stairs.

"How dare you!" He roared, and the witch at least had the dignity to cower under his gaze, "Get out!" He had yelled, and she did, without a backwards glance.

He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get his anger under control. Once he had succeeded somewhat, he spent the rest of his day finding his numerous house elves, who had hidden themselves in cupboards and closets after being subjected to his wrath, and apologising to them for his outburst.

He sat in his study after midnight, unable to pen the letter he so desperately wanted to send to Hermione. He had to make her understand what she had walked in on was a mistake…he should have told her how he felt yesterday…he ruined what had been a miniscule chance in the first place, at building any kind of relationship with her.

* * *

Hermione had spent the remainder of the day in bed, refusing to acknowledge the emptiness in her stomach as it was overpowered by the gaping hole left in her heart. She thought it was stupid, at first, that she had let Draco Malfoy make her feel this way; that she had allowed a simple crush to blur her logic.

But then Ginny had come over, and asked that horrible, blatant question.

"Are you sure you're not in _love_ with him, Hermione?"

She had asked it soothingly, Ginny was not accusing, just concerned. It was the simplest of questions, and it had shattered Hermione, as she had to face the reality that she in fact _had_ fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

She did not understand how, as their relationship had only recently turned friendly and his politeness toward her now had, in no way, made up for the tormenting he had put her through in the past.

Perhaps, she thought, she had always had a soft spot for him. She remembered feeling sorry for him in school, even when he was reducing her to tears by calling her a Mudblood. She had not wanted him to go to Azkaban, and had fought harder than she had in the Final Battle to get him cleared of all charges. She had refused to give up on the appeal even when everyone else had told her it was a futile mission.

Fresh waves of tears had claimed her as she admitted her feelings, and realised her caring for this man extended way back to their teenage years.

Now that Ginny had gone, and Hermione lay alone in her unusually cold and uninviting bed, she could not close her eyes and let sleep over take her, for the image of Draco kissing Pansy - his hands fisted in the material of her shirt, drawing her closer to him – seemed to have tattooed itself on the inside of Hermione's eyelids.


	14. Chapter 14

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**This is sad, but true**

* * *

For the fifth time in as many hours, there came screeching and scratching from Hermione's bedroom window.

She had set herself up in her bed, still clad in her pyjamas, with a mountain of paperwork and an extra-large mug of coffee. She had not slept the night before, and her pace with which she had flown through each case outline was beginning to slow.

She huffed and threw the covers away; welcoming the drop in temperature on her legs, and stalked to the window. She threw it open and Draco's owl fluttered in elegantly, landing on the corner of her bedspread. She accepted the note the bird offered and sat beside it on the bed. The owl hooted tiredly, and ducked its head under a broad wing for a quick nap.

For a moment, Hermione thought about replying to Draco, just for his owl's sake. Five return trips in one morning was harsh, even for an owl as large and powerful as Draco's. Hermione felt guilty, but as her small hands unfolded the parchment, her guilt was replaced by the familiar rush of hurt and anger.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I will grovel and beg if I have to. Please come to the Manor and let me explain. Please. _

_Draco_

Hermione balled the note up in her fist and threw it towards her trash can in the corner of the room. She missed, just as she had with the previous four letters. The man had rock-cakes in his head if he thought she would actually agree to meet him after what she had witnessed yesterday. She had nothing left to say to Draco, and she could care less about what he had to say to her. It was over.

* * *

The following Wednesday, Draco woke up with renewed vigour. It was a meeting day, and Hermione could no longer avoid him. She would have to come face to face with him, and he would tell her how he honestly felt about her.

He whistled to himself as he brewed coffee, already showered and dressed two hours before Hermione was due to arrive. A postal owl rapped on the kitchen window just as he had sat down, but he jumped up to retrieve this morning's paper.

He unfolded the Prophet with a flourish, and gazed at the headlines. Hot coffee slopped down the front of Draco's chin and scalded his chest and groin as it seeped into his shirt and pants. He coughed and spluttered as he danced around the kitchen in search of a wet sponge.

"Fuck! Bloody fuck!" He cursed as he wiped the mess away. He used his wand to clean himself up once he had gotten over his shock and remembered he had access to magic again.

"Holy mother of Merlin…" he whispered, sinking back into his chair once his clothes were clean and dry.

There, staring back at him from the front page was Hermione. Only it wasn't just Hermione. Anger boiled up in Draco such as he had never experienced. He noted the way the wizard's hands were holding Hermione against him, grazing her hips as she gyrated back against him. Her head was thrown back, and the wizard was whispering in her ear…or sucking her neck, Draco couldn't tell from this angle. She was laughing and he was smiling back at her.

Draco's chair grated against the kitchen tiles as he stood abruptly and marched towards his study, taking the stairs three at a time.

* * *

He paced in front of the fireplace, wondering whether it would be worth being sent back to Azkaban just to use the floo. His knuckles cracked as his hands turned to fists, and he thought about the unfairness of the situation.

A few seconds later, just as Draco had grabbed a handful of green powder and was about to step in to the grate, the room was filled with green light and the man he had wanted to visit – and then castrate – was standing in his study.

"ZABINI!" He roared, flying at the dark wizard and pushing him roughly up against the wall.

"Ooof!" Blaise's head connected with the wall with a satisfying thud.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing with Hermione last night?" Draco demanded, his fist curled in the front of Blaise's robes.

"If you let me go - " Blaise started calmly, but Draco pushed him back against the wall.

"Like fuck I will, you loathsome piece of shit!" Draco spat, "Start explaining!"

Blaise sighed, "It's not what you think, Draco."

"Really? Because the _Prophet_ has a lovely picture of the two of you two dancing rather intimately!"

"We just danced!" Blaise huffed, slightly impatient, "I'd met up with Theo for a drink and he dragged me to that damn club. Hermione was there, she was absolutely off her head on Firewhiskey, and she asked for a dance. I said no, at first, but then she broke down and told me all about how she'd found you in a lip-lock with Pansy - " Blaise frowned down at Draco, "and that she just wanted one dance. I obliged, and then I made sure she got home safely. That was about one 'o'clock this morning." Blaise finished, and Draco loosened his hold somewhat.

"So you didn't kiss her?" Draco's nostrils flared.

"No," Blaise shook his head, and Draco released him.

"Fuck!" He spat, running a hand through his platinum hair.

"Yeah, you could say that," Blaise had readjusted his robes and was now glaring at Draco with his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"What the fuck is this I hear about you and Pansy?"

"She ambushed me," Draco said sulkily.

Blaise snorted, "Well that's not how Hermione tells it."

"That's because Hermione walked in just as Pansy kissed me! I was trying to push her away! I don't want Pansy, I love Hermione!"

Blaise was stunned into silence for a moment, and watched as his friend paced the room, oblivious to his admission.

"You _love_ her?"

"What?" Draco froze.

"You just said you don't want Pansy, and you love Hermione," Blaise raised an eyebrow and the beginnings of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

"Shit," Draco whispered, and fell into his desk chair.

He loved Hermione. He had been skirting around the truth for weeks, blaming a little interest in her physical appearance for the reason his heart beat faster when she was close; for the reason he wanted to run his hands through her soft hair and kiss her lips; and for the reason he turned into a psychopath at the thought of any other man touching what should be _his_.

"You should tell her, mate."

"She's coming for a meeting today," Draco said hopefully.

Blaise smiled, "Well then, work it out. Don't let her leave until she knows how you feel about her."

He stepped towards the grate, and Draco stood.

"I'm sorry about…for…well, you know…assaulting you," he said sheepishly and Blaise grinned.

"No worries."

And with another flash of green light, Blaise disappeared.

* * *

Draco trudged downstairs, and decided to wait for Hermione in the sitting room.

Half an hour later, the wards shimmied and he sat up straighter in his chair, willing himself to stop hyperventilating.

There was a knock at the door a minute later and Draco frowned. It was charmed to swing open as soon as Hermione ascended the front steps.

Draco pushed himself out of the armchair with a sigh and went to open the door.

On his threshold stood a blonde witch, who was wearing a garish, tight red dress and stiletto heels. Her wide mouth was curved into a brilliant smile, and perfectly manicured hands curled gracefully around a thick file.

"Hello," she said, "I'm Vivien Weasley. I've been sent to cover your case in place of Hermione Granger, who is on leave."

Draco noticed the way her nose screwed up at the mention of Hermione, and she had practically growled the part about her being on leave.

Draco turned on his heel and assumed Vivien followed him.

He fell back into his armchair and refused to look up as she entered the room.

"So, Mr Malfoy," she began, "I trust you know who I am? Or at least, who I was?" She smirked and Draco scowled.

"Yes," he nodded once, "You were a Greengrass. A cousin of Daphne and Astoria."

"Correct," she said as if she was about to award 10 points to Slytherin for his cleverness.

"Why is Hermione on leave?" the question had left his lips before he could stop it.

"I don't know," Vivien waved her hand dismissively, "Any way, how have you been, Draco?"

Her face was a mask of false concern and Draco felt himself bristle at the sound of his first name coming out of her mouth.

"Fine," he bit out.

"Clearly you're not fine," Vivien scoffed and shuffled her notes, "I thought you'd be happy to see me here, in place of that incompetent Granger."

"What?" Draco's voice was menacingly low, but Vivien did not seem to gauge what this meant.

"She's been absolutely useless since the day I employed her," she sighed regretfully, "If it wasn't for Ron I wouldn't have - "

"Do not," Draco hissed, "mention that git's name under my roof."

"He is my husband, thank you very much!" Vivien's voice was indignant, but a healthy blush had graced her high cheek bones indicating she was slightly embarrassed.

"I know what he did to Hermione…what you both did to her," Draco's voice was still low, barely above a whisper.

Vivien snorted, "She did it to herself!"

"She did not! Hermione is nothing but loyal and caring and forgiving! Your waste-of-space husband is a dick, and is obviously blind _and_ stupid for choosing you over her!" His eyes were bright with unshed tears, and his voice was hoarse.

He blinked several times and stood suddenly.

Vivien took a few deep breaths. Her calming techniques had been honed over the past few months thanks to being married to Ron, and having to work with Hermione.

Finally, her heartbeat returned to normal, and she opened her eyes. Draco was still glaring murderously down at her from his standing position. She adopted a voice she thought sounded sweet and soothing, but was really just irritating.

"Draco," Vivien began, "If you do not sit back down and finish this interview, I will be forced to write you up as non-compliant and you'll be guaranteed a one way ticket back to Azkaban," her smile reminded him of the one Dolores Umbridge often wore during his fifth year; haughty and triumphant.

He contemplated denying her request, just so he could wipe that look off her face. But he was so close to being released from house arrest, and being able to join the real world, he slowly sank back into his chair.

* * *

Hermione received two owls simultaneously that afternoon. She had been napping on the couch, a melted carton of ice cream slowly leaking onto the floor from its tilted position in the crook of her elbow. Crookshanks was lapping it up with his rough tongue, purring loudly with contentment.

The first one was from Vivien:

_Hermione,_

_My meeting today with Draco Malfoy was very interesting. _

_He seemed to have great knowledge and understanding of events regarding Ron and yourself that have occurred in my past. _

_I would thank you to keep these matters to yourself in future. It is not fair to ruin my integrity out of self-pity and envy. _

_Regards,_

_Vivien Weasley_

Hermione's blood boiled at the audacity the woman had to monopolise a situation that had a bigger effect on Hermione, and the fact that Draco had not been able to keep his big, lipstick-covered mouth shut.

She tossed Vivien's letter into the fire with gusto, and then opened the second letter with such force it ripped the corner.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I was hurt to find you had gone on leave and had been replaced by that wretched cow Vivien. I solemnly swear I will stop being a prat, just do not subject me to her foul company again. _

_Also, there is something I really need to discuss with you. Please join me for dinner tomorrow night at the manor. Minny is cooking, and I have told her you will be present. She would be most upset if you do not show up. Please come. _

_Yours,_

_Draco_

Hermione would have thrown his letter in the fire alongside the crispy black ashes of Vivien's parchment, but the sentence about Minny stopped her.

She had always had a soft spot for elves, and enjoyed petitioning for their rights. Minny was no exception; in fact, Hermione felt she had a connection with this particular elf, which was stronger than any other since her connection with Dobby.

Hermione sighed, and slapped the parchment down on her coffee table, face down. She summoned a quill and wrote a hasty reply on the back of Draco's letter.

_Mr Malfoy,_

_I will be at the Manor at 7, only because Minny is expecting me. _

_Hermione Granger_

Hermione smiled tightly down at the letter, and nodded in satisfaction. It was impersonal, but it was an acceptance.

She would go to the Manor, politely sit through Minny's meal and then she would leave. Whatever Draco's intentions for dinner were, Hermione could care less.

With that, she picked up her half-eaten, mostly-melted ice cream, and hugged it to her chest as she spooned the vanilla-y goodness into her mouth.


End file.
